Mischief's Lover
by ToryTigress92
Summary: Pre-Thor, Loki/OFC. Lady Gwyneth Brandon did not expect to find a Norse God while out riding on Dartmoor. Neither did the Prince of Asgard expect to find such a prize and a challenge. Nor will they foresee the effect the other will have on their lives as Gwen allows herself to be tutored in passion by the Silvertongued Prince. Prompt-based.
1. Riding

Mischief's Lover

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warnings: Ok, this is going to be M rated, explicit, but tasteful, PWP. Well it will have some plot….and I put emphasis on the word '_**some**_'. However, if that is not to your taste, well fine by me. I will more than accept criticism on my writing style, or grammatical errors, however flaming because I write lemons will be ignored. And Loki will make your keys disappear ;P Apart from the last prompt chapter, these are all pre-Thor.

* * *

_**Prompt #1: Riding**_

_Dartmoor, England, 2__nd__ October 1885_

The moors stretched out across the horizon, the sky a solemn, steel grey, clouds massing on its edge.

She needed to hurry. Rain was on its way.

Lady Gwyneth Brandon checked her horse for one infinitesimal moment, the grey's powerful legs dancing on the sodden ground, before pushing him into a canter, the wild moor wind plucking at the edges of her fur-lined riding hood and jacket. She had only gone into the village to fetch her father's tonic from the apothecary's. It was the beginning of winter on the moors, and she had no desire to be caught in the rainstorm which could so quickly turn to snow and ice.

She glimpsed the trees and parkland which surrounded her home, and pushed the grey on, into gallop, thundering down the lane.

Although there were plenty of servants at the house, she didn't want to keep Papa waiting. He was ailing, the cooling days and chilly nights setting an ache in his old bones, and making him cough. He had suffered from consumption in his youth, and Gwen prayed it would not raise its head once more in his old age.

She was just entering the first copse of trees that flanked the gates of Brandon House when she felt it. A chilling wave of cold swept over her, penetrating the heavy skirts of her riding gear, straight down into her marrow. The grey reared and snorted in alarm, and she fought to calm it.

A strange howling sound had filled the air, and Gwen frantically looked for its source. She thought she heard a groan, somewhere in the trees, and summoning her courage, she dismounted and tied her mount's reins to a branch, soothing the flighty stallion with soft pats and cooing.

The howling faded, silence returning on the dead air, and Gwen wondered if she had imagined it. As she turned from the grey, and peered into the dim light of the copse, she thought she glimpsed a flash of black and green against the reds and browns of the decaying leaves.

The detritus from the trees crunched beneath her feet, and she could hear her own heartbeat in the silence, thundering in her ears. She eased her way through the undergrowth, ignoring the branches catching at her skirts. The grey stamped and neighed, prompting her to glance back for one moment in surprised concern, before another groan drew her on.

Human. Definitely male. Not that she had ever had any experience in such things…

She rounded a tree, and stopped dead for a moment. There, in the centre of the clearing, lay a man.

Cursing her shock, she started forward, dark blue skirts flying. The man was lying facedown on the cold ground, and she immediately knelt by his side, checking him for wounds.

He seemed well enough, if barely conscious, and he was hot to the touch, even through the leather of her riding gloves. Satisfied he was not injured, she heaved him onto his back, panting at the effort, and stopped short at the features which met her gaze.

He was handsome, no, beautiful even. Pale, chiselled features, harsh and sensual, were framed by inky black hair that looked like silk to the touch. Gwen found her fingers literally itching to do so.

He was dressed…oddly. She had never seen the like before. His strong shoulders were encased in black leather, trimmed with what looked like light armour, accented with deep green. Long strong legs were encased in riding breeches of a similar material to his coat and tunic, while long boots were exposed by the cut of the coat.

Fascinated, Gwen reached out one hand to his cheek, her breath suspended in her throat.

A strong, cold grip stopped her in her tracks, her wrist complaining at its ill treatment. With a small shriek, she met the intense, burning eyes of her mysterious stranger.

Emerald green. Intelligence shone in them like a beacon, coldly assessing her even as she noted the feverish glaze to them.

"W-where am I?" he demanded, in a low hiss that grated through Gwen like icy spears. "Alfheim? Niffelheim?"

Brow furrowing at his raving, she felt his forehead. "Sir, you are not well," she murmured. "You are on Dartmoor, in the woods around Brandon House. You're safe now."

He chuckled weakly, his eyes roaming her face and form impudently, so Gwen both flushed and glared at him coolly.

"I fear you have a fever," she continued briskly, stripping off her riding jacket and laying it over him. "Are you injured? How came you here?"

"That would be telling, woman," he muttered, and she sighed through her teeth, fighting for patience. Her knees were starting to grow damp from kneeling on the wet ground.

"My name is Gwen," she replied pointedly. "My home is not far. Remain here, since you seem unable to walk, and I will fetch help."

He made no answer, and Gwen bent over him once more, concerned. His voice, peeved and hoarse, made her jump.

"Well, if you are going to fetch help, then do so woman. Your hovering is annoying," he growled, and she huffed impatiently.

How was it possible for one man to be so infuriating? And he was clearly raving, so how did that bode well for his mental state when sober?

Regardless, he needed help.

With another huff, she left her infuriating, mysterious stranger, hurrying towards her mount. A glance at the sky through the canopy of skeletal branches and reddening leaves lengthened her stride, in a most unladylike fashion. She needed to get him home, and soon.

* * *

Loki could feel his entire body burning. It swamped all other sensation, so he was unaware even when strong, calloused hands lifted him, and the rocking sensation of a cart, swept through his consciousness, fleetingly.

The only thing to bring him succour from the burning was…_**her**_.

The mortal. Gwen.

Her features were blurred, he could recall no details coherently. But her eyes, like two sapphire gems watching him with an inner fire that mimicked the burning in his body.

The burning took over, and he cursed his weakness, and his stupidity. Damn it all, he was not his brother! Usually he would never have tried a new spell without proper preparation or research, but the opportunity to find a way to travel between the Realms, without the Bifrost, without Heimdall's supervision, his never ceasing vigilance…had been too much to pass by. He was a Prince, his time was often not his own.

And now he was trapped on this barren, primitive rock. He knew where he was now. Midgard.

The woman's name. Gwen. A Midgardian name.

As he was laid back against something soft and warm, a strange flickering against his eyelids that he guessed was a fire, he mentally grimaced. His mind was too fogged; he could feel his magic, at the edge of his senses, just out of reach. He was too weak, fatigued by his sudden and unplanned descent from Asgard. He needed to rest and heal, even if it was on this forsaken rock.

Inwardly angered at himself, he focussed on the voices around him.

"Wonder where he came from…"

"Funny gear. Looks like one of them gypsy players…"

"Hush Annie! Jimmy! I do not wish to hear any gossip," came his saviour's voice, cutting across the importuning male and female voices. "He needs our help, so be quiet and _**do**_!"

Commanding. Unyielding. The voice of a Valkyrie.

"Yes milady," the servants chorused, and he suddenly felt the strange sensation of his clothes being tugged from him. He would have objected, told them to leave him be and get their filthy mortal hands off of him, but then an even odder sensation overcame him.

A heat to overwhelm the burning.

Small, perfectly formed hands gently helping to undo his clothing. _**Her**_. Gwen.

"Milady! You really shouldn't-it's not proper!" the woman, Annie he thought, shrieked censoriously. He could almost feel the impatience and sarcasm rolling off of his saviour in waves, lapping against his skin.

"I will decide if it is not proper, Annie. Because, Heaven forbid, something scandalous could occur with an unconscious man!"

He mentally chuckled at that.

"He has a fever," she continued quietly, businesslike. "Fetch me water and cloths. We need to get his temperature down. Oh, and Annie, could you ask Cook to have one of the maids take Papa's dinner up?"

Another quietly, respectfully toned "yes, milady," and a door opened and closed somewhere.

Those hands left his now coatless and bootless body, leaving him in his undershirt and trousers. Soft linen was pulled over his legs and waist, before a weight depressed the mattress beside him. The door opened again.

"The water, milady,"

"Thank you, Jimmy. You may go and have your dinner now," Gwen's commanding voice sounded again.

"What about you, milady? Would you like a tray sent up?"

"Very well. But just some bread and broth-"

"I meant for _**you**_, milady," this Jimmy's voice was both suspicious and exasperated, leaving Loki in little doubt what estimation he was held in, wherever he was. Foolish mortals.

The time of gods might be over on Midgard, but he was not to be trifled with.

"I am not hungry. Now, go on," Gwen replied firmly, and he heard the door close. Silence fell, with nothing but the crackle of the fire, and the soft breathing of his hostess as she bustled around the room.

Abruptly, he felt a cool, damp weight against his forehead, easing the burning even while he felt his muscles tense under her touch.

"Hmmm, under all that dirt, you are quite beautiful, you know," she murmured, obviously unaware that he was conscious and listening. He smirked inwardly. "Who are you?"

He decided to speak at that, enjoying the prospect of teasing his new hostess. Mortals were so much fun to play with, after all.

"Loki." he was annoyed to hear how hoarse his own voice was, but the jump of her fingers was more than worth it. He heard a gasp and a splash, followed by quiet, mild cursing.

"Look what you made me do!" she hissed, as he opened his eyes, to see her shaking out her skirts, a damp patch growing across her lap from where she had jumped and dropped her wet cloth on her dress. "Well, at least you are not suffering from amnesia."

She met his gaze, and his first estimation of her eyes was not inaccurate. He had little knowledge of mortals' systems of measurement for age, but he guessed she was but twenty Midgardian years. Little more than a child to him.

Intelligent blue eyes blinked at him from a pretty face, with curving eyebrows, a straight nose, plump rose-pink lips, and soft pale skin of a similar shade to his own. Her face was framed by dark hair, a soft shade of mahogany, with a trace of auburn in the firelight. Compared to Asgardian scales of beauty, she was average, particularly as she possessed darker colouring than was thought ideal, but she was, he supposed lovely.

His gaze flicked down, to a slender neck only just revealed by the high neckline of her gown, thin white gauzy fabric giving a tantalising glimpse of the skin beneath. The rest of her was obscured by the voluminous navy blue skirts of her dress, although her waist was nicely outlined by the fitted bodice.

The last he had been on Midgard, the women had worn loose sheaths of rough wool, and cloaks and boots, their hair covered. He found he rather preferred this era's manner of dress.

Gwen felt his searching gaze, and endured it defiantly. When his eyes met hers, she refused to look away, or to blush. He smirked, and it was appreciative.

"You said your name was Loki? Loki what?" she asked, turning slightly in her chair to replace the cloth in the basin on the table beside her.

"Odinson. I am Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard," he murmured, watching her closely for signs of fear, or of derision. He was surprised when she just laughed.

"You expect me to believe you are a figure from Norse legends?" she asked, disbelievingly. "You are clearly still raving."

"My fever has passed, mortal," he returned, imperiously. "It takes rather more than that to make a God rave."

"Now I know you are insane," she shook her head. He frowned, then laughed and shook his head. "What amuses you?"

"You do, mortal," he replied steadily, holding her gaze. "You deny what is right in front of your nose, as if usual of all your insignificant kind."

Instead of bristling, or even screaming for help, she just raised one brow and leaned back in her chair. "Oh, what have I missed?" she murmured.

"My attire for a start. It is clearly not of mortal make," he began, but she just shook her head.

"Jimmy suggested you could be a member of some travelling theatre troupe. If so, those could just be a costume," she returned, and he had to admit she was quick and logical.

"We all wear a costume, my lady," he said, drawing out her title mockingly. "Tell me, is that your title or is just a form of respect from your servants?"

"Both," Gwen said. "My full name is Lady Gwyneth Hermione Brandon. My father is Sir William Brandon."

So she was nobility. All to the good.

As his eyes once more wandered over her form, he thought over the prospect taking shape in his mind. She had aided him, after all. She deserved a reward for her services.

But first things first…

Smiling, calling on what dribbles of magic he could, he opened his palm and a white rose flowered. Gwen's eyes widened, but she did not recoil or scream.

She was not awed.

"Impressive," she breathed. "But a conjuring trick does not a God make."

Loki's smirk was amused, at most. "Just wait, little mortal. When I have rested, then you will see…"

In fact, he would might have some fun with her tonight, if he was sufficiently recovered. No point offering a gift to one who would look it horse in the mouth.

His eyes wandered again, and her curt reply snapped them back to hers. "You are impudent, sir, to look such at a lady," she snapped, and he chuckled.

"You are a fiery one, are you not? After all, it was _**you **_who called me beautiful and removed my clothing, despite the protests of your servants," he murmured silkily, glad to see a slight heat in her cheeks.

"It matters not, my _**Prince**_," she returned mockingly, gesturing dismissively. "It was but a fleeting comment."

"Were I not weakened, my lady, I would punish you for that insolence," he retorted, and this time he was pleased to see her openly flustered. They all broke in the end.

But then to his surprise, she hardened, her eyes turning cool, hiding her discomfort. "Watch your tongue, sir, or I _**will**_ call the doctor to have you removed to an asylum," she stated commandingly. "Much as I abhor those institutions, they might have ways to curb your offensive tongue."

Oh, yes, he liked this mortal. She liked to play. "You know what they call me, my lady? Silvertongue. My tongue may be offensive, but only in a pleasurable way…"

She opened her mouth to retort, her eyes flaming now, but the door opened as a bulky, middle-aged man in plain but smart black attire entered with a tray. Gwen stood, ignoring her charge.

"Thank you, Jimmy. Place it over here," she gestured to the table on which lay the basin. "The basin is no longer needed."

"Very good, milady," Jimmy nodded, taking away the basin but not without a suspicious glance at Loki. He chuckled to himself; the man was right to be suspicious.

"You know they will be listening at the door? To make sure the mysterious stranger does no harm on your beloved person?" he taunted her, as she turned back. She eyed him coolly, before setting the tray across his lap.

"Eat. God knows, it might shut you up for a moment," she muttered, and slightly taken aback by her harshness, he set to the chicken broth and bread reluctantly.

It was good, much as he refused to admit it.

"Do you not dine?" he asked, as she sat back down again, taking a book from the side and opening it to a marked page. Her eyes glanced up to him.

"No," she replied. "I am not hungry."

"You need sustenance," he said firmly. "Eat." he pushed what was left towards her.

"I am not hungry-" she protested, but he interrupted with a commanding bark.

"Eat! I insist," he added, to soften his voice slightly. She flushed, with anger, and he idly wondered how far that blush extended, and he was pleased to see she was not immune to his commanding nature. The games he could play with her…

With a huff, she slowly ate the last of the broth, and Loki's eyes fixed on the slender column of her barely exposed throat as she swallowed. The redness leaching into her lips as the heat of the liquid warmed them, and he was surprised by the fierceness of the longing that hit him, in a strong wave. He desired those lips.

He would have them. He would brook no argument, and there would be none, he was sure of it.

Once he had mastered the spell to travel the ways between Realms, he would have to visit Midgard often.

"Are you wed, my lady?" he asked, and she paused in her meal, eying him consideringly.

"No, I am not," she replied shortly.

"Betrothed?"

"You ask too many questions," she returned. He caught her gaze and held it tightly.

"I will have an answer," he murmured.

"No, I am not betrothed or promised," she sighed exasperatedly. "Now may I ask what the purpose of that interrogation was?"

He just looked at her then, and she fought not to shift tellingly under that heated, cold emerald gaze. He leant forward, and her breath hitched as the mattress creaked with his weight.

His hand rose, slender fingers, that Gwen had taken little notice of before, sliding against her chin gently, enticingly, before they firmed and held her in place. Her annoyance, her unease, dissipated and she lost herself in those eyes.

Loki's smirk widened, as his thumb traced her lower lip, and they parted unconsciously. His body stirred, weakened as it was, and his senses unfurled like a hunting cat waking from a nap.

This human had aided him, challenged him, and now she aroused his desires with her fire and her beauty. She would be his, but not yet.

She was too young, and Time was a sure way to bind her to him all the more effectively. To make her his lover, and his alone. Loki did not like to share.

He wiped a drop of broth from the corner of her luscious lip, feeling the deep shiver that she tried and failed to hide, and suppressing the urge to kiss her now. Soon, soon.

"You will find out soon enough," he told her, his voice slipping into a husky tone, like melted chocolate, or satin over blazing steel.

* * *

Gwen escaped.

She leant against the door of her bedchamber, in darkness, cool, blessed darkness. It soothed her, washed aside her fears and her uncertainties, even as her body began to awaken to the seeds of….what? What was he about, her dark stranger? Was he mad? A charlatan?

She didn't know. Regardless, he was still unwell, and he needed shelter. At least for tonight, she could give it to him and decide what to do on the morrow. She pushed aside all thoughts of the pounding of her heart as he had held her chin immovable, and his thumb had caressed her skin, that warm breath skating over her aching lips…

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "God help me," she murmured fervently.

Across the house, Loki heard her, and chuckled. Oh yes, he would enjoy this…

* * *

_To be continued…_


	2. Dream

Mischief's Lover

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: Some sensuality, but no overtly explicit material.

* * *

_**Prompt #2 Dream**_

Gwen firmly refused to think about her guest, as she allowed her ladies' maid, Martha, to ready her for bed. Gratefully shedding the restrictive corset, she inhaled deeply, before unpinning her hair from its somewhat dishevelled style. In all the commotion, she'd had neither the will nor the time to redo it.

As she slipped on the light linen nightdress, she smiled at her maid. "Thank you, Martha. You may go," she murmured kindly. The little maid bobbed a curtsey and bid her goodnight.

In her room, the shadows hugged the corners, the only sources of light flickering candles on her dressing table, and the candelabra in one corner. She brushed out her long hair, concentrating on the smooth rhythm to distract her from her thoughts, even as they rose, far too nebulous to be dissipated.

Her dark stranger…Loki, if that was his real name.

She shivered, reaching back to snare a shawl that waited on the box seat at the end of her bed.

Was it not just typical that she had to rescue a man who believed himself to be the Norse God of Mischief, Lies, and some said Evil?

Although she had never thought so. Amorality, and anarchy, were not evil per se, in themselves, but merely uncontrollable and dangerous. And looking in his eyes, she had seen both…

She almost wanted to scream, as she put down her brush firmly, and swept towards her bed. Never in her entire life had she given more than ten minutes thought to any man apart from her father, and now one just dropped into her lap, and she could not get him out of her mind!

And his words…

"_You will find out soon enough…"_

God help her.

He was surely mad, but he was not the helpless, childish sort of madman she had heard of in the asylums. He was in full possession of himself, and that made him dangerous. No doubt there would come news tomorrow that a lunatic had escaped onto the moors.

Yet in those eyes…Gwen shuddered once more. She needed sleep; in hope her head would be clearer tomorrow.

Throwing her shawl over the end of the bed, she tucked herself into the thick eiderdown, and snuffed out the candles. She had been trying to persuade Papa to install some electric lighting, as was all the rage in London, but he remained wary of 'newfangled trifles' as electricity.

Once darkness settled its cool shadows over her room, she slid down further into the bed, pulling the covers up and under her chin. With a determined huff, she turned onto her side, closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep.

* * *

A figure stepped from the shadows, smiling at the sight of the young mortal, so innocent and vulnerable before him. Emerald eyes gleamed and shone with a wicked light as he stepped close to the bed.

Gwen lay, twisted in her bed, the covers twined around her legs and waist. She had been tossing for an hour, and her dark hair was ruffled on the pillow.

With a gentility that belied his desires, Loki reached out a hand, caressing the silken curl nearest to him. His magic was still weak, but he still had strength for this.

He reached out a hand to her cheek, surprised by how strong her skin felt to his hand. He had noticed that her hands bore no calluses or scars that would denote knowledge of weaponcraft, but there was still something of the warrior, the Valkyrie, about her. Had she born on Asgard, she would no doubt have rivalled the Lady Sif in her fierceness and prowess on the battlefield.

Yes, a truly worthy conquest. He looked forward to taming that fire in her, not so it was extinguished, but so that only he would possess the power to feed it.

His smile deepening, Loki closed his eyes and reached out with his magic.

* * *

"_Wake up, my Lady…"_

_Gwen was warm and comfortable. She had no desire to wake up, and definitely would not if she didn't wish to! _

"_You are a stubborn one, my Lady," a cold, silken voice murmured in her ear, the breath wafting against her neck the exact opposite. "But it is time to awaken. I have something to discuss with you…"_

_That voice…Loki!_

_Gwen's eyes snapped open, and she sat up in alarm and fear as it raged through her, meeting heated emerald eyes that she had seen only hours before._

_He was on the bed beside her, clad in his loose black shirt and breeches, leaning over her even as she scrambled back against the headboard._

_He saw her scramble for the covers, and caught her wrist. "Ah, ah, ah," he murmured laughingly. "Too late for that, sweetling."_

"_You devil!" she hissed, trying to free herself but his grip was too strong. She didn't even think it was taking much effort, which only annoyed her more. "Do you have no sense of decency or propriety? How did you know which was my room?"_

_Loki just smiled._

_Then something niggled in her mind, as she glanced around at her room, and then back at Loki._

_A dream. This was a dream._

_Her captor's smile only grew, even as he leaned closer to her, trapping her between him and the head board. "You are perceptive, mortal," he murmured, deeply, and a shiver slipped down her spine._

"_You're not real, this is a dream," she pronounced firmly. His gaze clearly said: if you say so._

"_Of course, my lady," he replied. "But while it is __**your **__dream, it is of __**my **__creation."_

"_What do you mean?" she asked, frowningly._

"_You still doubt my power?" he leant in further, and Gwen inwardly wondered why she wasn't struggling or moving away, even if this was a dream. "Foolish girl…"_

_His lips trailed across her forehead, making her shudder and her eyes flutter. _

"_You will acknowledge the truth soon enough," he chuckled, his laugh like chocolate, dark and forbidden, sliding over Gwen's nerves, slowing her thoughts. "I come not to prove myself to you. I come to offer you a gift in gratitude for your aid…"_

_He straightened slightly, removing his intoxicating presence slightly, and Gwen breathed again. His hands fell to her shoulders, burning through the thin muslin, and she shivered once more._

"_You are beautiful, my lady Gwyneth," he murmured. "And fiery. I see a passion in you that needs but an ember to enflame it, and you. Allow me to be that ember, allow me to tutor you in passion."_

"_You think that sufficient recompense for such aid?" she asked, aghast. "Apart from the complete impropriety of such an offer, I am no whore!"_

"_To be the lover of a God is to be above such puerile notions as propriety, my lady," Loki replied smoothly. "None will know, and none shall ever touch you again bar me, if you accept my offer."_

_Gwen's mind whirled. Every part of her was torn, and then there was the knowledge that this was a dream…_

_Her morality, and the scruples she had been raised with, demanded she refuse and expel him from her home immediately. Her instincts…God help her, but they suddenly yearned to know the passion of a G-…of someone like him. She had spent so many years, alone, in the wilds of Dartmoor with her father that she had buried thoughts of marriage and love. True, she was only twenty years old but…it would not be long before she was relegated to spinsterhood by society. _

_Some deeply buried part of her yearned to feel the touch of man, if only once before she accepted her lot. And here was this dark, compelling stranger offering it to her…_

_She was insane, but as he leaned closer, a knowing glint in those darkling eyes, her heart raced and her mouth dried with anticipation._

_His hand slid into her hair, gentle yet Gwen felt the strength in those slender fingers, remembered the way they had felt on her chin earlier, felt their capability to turn from tender to bruising, and shuddered._

_The other settled on her cheek, large palm resting against her cheekbone, his thumb caressing her lower lip. She met his eyes, defiantly, determined not to give in and let him see how affected she was. She would not…_

_Loki's smile only grew more knowing, and she longed both to slap it away and turn that smile into…what? She didn't know, but she ached to find out._

"_You cannot hide what you feel from __**me**__, Gwen," he sighed against her lips. "I know well how to spot a lie."_

"_Then what do I feel? If I am so easily read?" she spat fiercely. He shook his head, before lowering his head, and Gwen almost melted at the feeling of his lips brushing hers._

"_Desire," the word a hot whisper against her mouth, and her breath trembled from her even as she cursed herself for her weakness. "Intoxicating, is it not? We have only just begun. I have much to teach you, Gwen."_

"_I haven't said yes," she replied, her voice choked. He chuckled and shook his head, releasing her slightly._

"_No, but you will," he returned certainly. Gwen wanted to rebuff him, for his arrogance and presumption, but he held up a warning finger. "Ah, ah, ah. Remember what I said about lying."_

"_This is a dream, and you are not real," she looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. "In the morning, I shall forget about all of this."_

"_Don't bet on it," he muttered, and was that a slight edge of annoyance slipping into his tone? Well, good._

"_Well, now I shall take my leave of you," Loki said, and Gwen turned at the sudden change in his demeanour. From seductive to irritated to gallant? The man was an enigma._

_He took her hand, and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. She shuddered as a slight pressure against her skin, hot and wet, before he pulled away. "Now you play at the gentleman?" she asked sarcastically. He smirked wryly._

"_Oh, always, sweetling," he murmured, leaning in once more. "As it is, you shall need all the rest you can get, for when your lessons start; you will need all the strength you possess."_

_His lips came down, and Gwen steeled herself to feel her mouth taken without her consent, but instead they once again drifted across her forehead in an aching caress. She fought down the illogical feelings of disappointment, closing her eyes-_

* * *

Gwen opened her eyes and gasped. Sunlight, bright and golden, broke through her window drapes, painting a strip of gold on her white eiderdown. Her heart still pounded, even as the maid smiled at her place by the fire she was stoking.

"Good morning, milady," she bobbed a curtsey, before hurrying from the room with her buckets and rags. Gwen schooled her expression into a calm, collected aspect but she was inwardly full of confusion.

And longing.

Her skin burned with fever, and her lips felt swollen. She touched them wonderingly, and then cursed herself for her foolishness. She stared at the windows, then rose determinedly, ringing for her lady's maid.

She had a bone to pick with her dark stranger.


	3. Library

Mischief's Lover

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: Heavy sensuality.

* * *

_**Prompt #3: Library**_

Her dark stranger was nowhere to be found. He was not in his bed, and when Gwen had pointedly asked the maid where their guest had gone off to, she had sweetly replied he was somewhere in the house, and oh, was he not ever so charming and dashing a figure as ever one saw?

Wonderful, so Loki had seduced the servants now as well.

_He has not seduced me yet_, she reminded herself. _Nor will he, if you have any sense._

Determined not to think of him, or of the intoxicating dream, that contrary to what she had told Loki, she remembered all too well; she went to the dining room for her breakfast.

She was alone, as usual. Her father rarely left his room, for his health, and as she spooned kedgeree onto her plate, she was glad of it. Despite her resolve, her defiance, a fine tension had begun to take hold of her limbs, and she jumped at every little sound.

She barely touched her plate, before finally admitting defeat, and going to seek her guest once more. This time her steps led her to the library, and as she paused in the dusty old room, she remembered the book of Norse legends her father had brought back from his youthful travels, and sighed.

Well forewarned was forearmed, and her knowledge of Norse Gods beyond names as somewhat rusty. Decided, she went to the back of the room, pulling down a dustsheet to reveal the shelves that housed her father's more unconventional books.

Her fingers gripped the tome, easing it from its shelf. She wrinkled her nose as dust came down with it, wiping off her mint green morning gown irritably.

There was a chaise in front of the fireplace, and Gwen debated calling in a servant to light the fire, as the cold sank into her bones. She dispensed with the option a moment later; she did not want anyone witnessing her foolishness.

Opening the book to a well-read page, she settled down on the comfortable old chaise, and began to read.

She had forgotten how much she had loved the old myths. She was soon engrossed, too engrossed to notice when a fire slowly crackled into life in the grate, and a pair of emerald green eyes watched her amusedly from the doorway.

* * *

He knew exactly what she was reading, and why. He knew she had risen with the intent to confront him.

And he knew exactly how to turn it to his advantage.

His magic and strength had returned. He would need to return to Asgard but first, he would ensure that his Lady would be waiting for him when he returned.

A predatory smile lifted the corners of his lips, as he stepped forward to spring the trap.

Gwen jumped as hard fingers slid over her shoulder, albeit screened by her gown. She was thankful she'd picked one that was thoroughly demure and covered most of her skin, else…

Why was she even thinking such things?

She felt a huff of breath against her ear, warm, an amused chuckle. She stiffened, instantly knowing who was standing behind her, leaning over her.

"Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep well?" he asked cordially enough. Gwen retained her stiff posture and nodded.

"Perfectly," she hissed. "Utterly dreamless and peaceful."

"Indeed?" her tormentor's voice was knowingly amused. He saw through her charade. His hand reached for her book, and she was powerless to stop him. "What is this? A bit of light research?"

His emerald eyes scanned the text intently, as Gwen watched him narrowly over her shoulder, uneasy at how close their faces were.

"Obviously," she murmured, standing quickly. "Forewarned is forearmed after all. Tell me, though, did you truly lie with a stallion?"

Loki sighed, shaking his head. What was it with mortals and such odd fantasies? "No, I did not," he replied, shutting the book with a snap. "So I take it you have accepted my true identity?"

"I had little choice after your…intrusion last night," she muttered, turning to look down into the flames. Loki placed the book on the side table, and stepped up behind her. Her breath hitched as his hands curled over her shoulders, and he leaned into her, his lips at her ear.

"Ahh, so you do remember," he hissed. "And have you decided upon your answer?"

"That was a dream," she muttered. Frowning slightly, he lowered his hands, sliding them down over her arms, inwardly cursing the thick material of her gown that muted his touch.

Gwen felt it regardless. Good God, it made her spine melt and he was not even touching skin! Her resistance had melted away like ice next to a flame.

"Does this feel like a dream?" he asked roughly, brushing her lips over a spot beneath her ear. Her sharp intake of breath made him smile and do it again. "Where next shall I kiss you, sweetling? Here?" he breathed, trailing down to where her pulse beat frantically. His voice deepened, as his hands slid around her waist, then one slid further down, pressing against her abdomen through her corset and petticoats, and then down further, curving into the 'V' of her thighs. "Or here?"

She moved so quickly, he barely had time to blink. Her hand was raised, but he recognised the movement for the delaying tactic it was, and grabbed her wrist, pinning both of them behind her waist and pulling her into his arms. Her breasts heaved beneath demure collar of her gown.

"I am no whore!" she spat fiercely, and he shuddered.

"My sweetling, I thought we covered this," he purred, leaning in seductively. God help her. "The lovers of Gods are above such infantile notions as propriety and virtue. You want me, and you shall have me, lovely mortal…"

He bent his head to her ear, and she arched her neck back in an attempt to escape his words, his hold, but he just held her tighter, against his body. "Slowly, intimately, until you scream and sob my name, but only for the first time I take you to bed. The second time, you will feel the full force of what it means to be the lover of a God."

When he raised his head, he saw Gwen's lips were parted and she shook. Oh poor sweet girl! She was already longing for him, yet she knew not what she felt.

He would tutor her well.

* * *

"When you say yes," he murmured, leaning in against her until their lips brushed. "One word is all it will take and it will be yours. But I warn you now, if you agree, if you succumb, then I will be unrelenting in my possession. Once you are mine, you will be mine and mine alone, do you understand?"

"What are you saying?" she breathed.

"No man will touch you, kiss you, lie with you. I, and I alone, will have that right and privilege. You will belong to me," he told her, his eyes darkening with lust as his words affected not just her, but him as well. The thought of her, his forever….yes, he desired that but patience must come first.

"What is your answer?" he asked gently, leaning in, so achingly close to kissing her.

Gwen felt the compulsion, the pull, the irresistible seduction of his words sink into her soul and destroy her resolve. God help her, but she wanted him. She was twenty years old, not yet a spinster, but close. With her father's health so poor, it was likely she would never marry, never take a husband to her bed, and she ached to feel the touch of a man, the possession of a man.

"What of children?" she asked, his brow quirked amusedly.

"You will not conceive unless I will it," he told her softly. Some small measure of relief washed through her; she could have this, have him, without fear of consequences.

"Your answer?" he pressed, and she looked up into his eyes. Her pride would not let her answer, but her inner wildness would. She lunged upwards as far as his hold on her would allow, and kissed him.

Inexpertly, clumsily, but he soon retook control, caressing her lips with his. She felt the soft heat of his tongue against her lips, and opened them with a sigh, letting him in. He was gentle at first, his tongue sliding against hers in an intimate game that thrilled her, novice that she was. She soon learned to return the game, as his hands released hers to tighten around her waist and pull her in further, until she was pressed, head to toe, against him.

And what she could feel against her stomach both thrilled and frightened her.

She boldly slid her hands into his hair, her head whirling as lust awoke in her for the first time, her lips hungry for more with an untutored, fresh passion that allured Loki, even as she unknowingly shifted against his hips, her body craving more yet her mind still too untried to face it yet.

He forced back a groan, and decided to show her more, lure her in deeper. He framed her face between his hands, and kissed her fiercely, voraciously, sinking deeply into her mouth and claiming it, branding it his own.

She moaned, inwardly Loki smiled in triumph. It was but the first victory on a long road, but he savoured it regardless.

He broke the kiss, holding her tightly as she fought to recover her breath, one hand still buried in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"That was…" she trailed off, as if realising she had just spoken aloud. He laughed.

"I am called Silvertongue for a reason, my lady," he murmured. Her eyes flashed and she stretched up for more, but he restrained her. "No, my lady. Not until you give me your promise to be mine and mine alone. Do you give such a vow?"

Gwen could barely think, yet alone speak. She had no plans, and little prospects, to marry, and she trusted when Loki assured her she would be in no danger of falling pregnant. And his kiss…he had awoken something within her, and it would not be denied.

"I promise," she whispered, and triumph shone in his eyes. His head bent back to hers, and she eagerly met him again, wanting to learn more about this wondrous feeling he created in her.

Loki could not hold back his groan when she met his kiss, so full of fire, so eager. Oh yes, the inner Valkyrie he saw in her was rising to the fore. His body was already aching, urging him to forget his carefully laid plans and take her then and there, to lift her skirts and support her against the wall, or on the chaise before the fire-

Damn it all, he was not some barbarian Midgardian!

As if to underscore that point, he bent his head further over hers, reasserting dominance in the kiss, their tongues meeting and feasting hungrily. He permitted himself to touch her neck, to slide it down until it reached the zenith of the neckline of her bodice. She shuddered and clung closer to him.

Calling on his magic, he broke from her lips and pressed open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, then down further, tilting her head back as she began to writhe in his arms, and down until he found her pulse and laved it with his tongue. When she was lightly gasping in his arms, his grip around her waist tightened and he bit her skin lightly.

She gasped but did not fight him. He laved his mark on her neck, imbuing it with magic, so it would be visible only to them, and it would pulse if ever she was in danger, or if someone were to get inappropriately close to what as his, and he would know.

So would she. The mark of his ownership stood out starkly against her porcelain skin when he raised his head, and she raised a trembling hand to it, feeling the heat against her fingertips. His gaze was harsh and unyielding when she met it.

"Now you are mine," he told her warningly. "That mark will not let you forget it."

Gwen wasn't sure if she should feel afraid, angered or enflamed by his autocratic pronouncement. She was still puzzling over the appropriate reaction, when his gaze softened, and he leant in to just brush her lips with his. Instinctively, she tracked them, and he smiled at her reaction.

"I must depart," he murmured. "Thank you for your hospitality and your acceptance of my offer, my lady. I will be with you again shortly."

Gwen moved back of her own accord, and a frosty shield descended over her impassioned features. "Good day to you, my Prince, and safe journey," she muttered coolly. Inwardly laughing at her show of haughtiness, he stepped close and snagged her wrist, pressing a kiss to the inner face, and relished her shudder.

"My lady?"

Gwen turned in a panic, as a maid walked in. She felt a shimmer of heat against her back, and when she turned to look, Loki was gone.


	4. Antiques

Mischief's Lover

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: Explicit Content.

* * *

_**Prompt #4: Antiques**_

Unfortunately events conspired against Loki, so it was many months before he could even contemplate returning to Midgard and to Gwen. He never felt his mark burn, so at least he knew she was safe.

Unfortunately, he was less so. His absence had been marked, and the fact that Heimdall could neither see nor hear him even more so. It had taken all his considerable skill and honeyed words to convince both the Gatekeeper and his father than he merely been experimenting with a spell that had gone badly wrong and sent him to another Realm. After the usual chastisements and lectures, he had felt it best to wait, until suspicions could be allayed and dissipated before attempting to travel again.

Not to mention it gave him time to perfect his magic, so next time the transition would not be quite so exhausting.

Then one day he felt the mark burn.

He felt it one day, as they sat in council with the All-Father, and it burned so badly it made his teeth clench. Thor, bored as usual, noticed it with a worried glance.

"Brother? Are you well?" he asked quietly. Loki sighed, as all eyes turned to him regardless of Thor's attempted discretion.

Except perhaps it might just give him the escape he needed.

"A slight headache I fear," he replied solemnly. "Father, if I might be excused?"

The All-Father inclined his head, and Loki stood with a respectful bow, walking briskly from the council chambers to his room.

Once he reached his room, he gave orders that he was not to be disturbed to his manservant, and locked the door. As he paced his room, his eyes narrowed as the mark burned again. Was she well? In danger? No….

No, the mark would have burned differently. No, then that meant someone, a man, was getting inappropriately close to his Gwen.

Well he couldn't have that. As he smiled and cloaked himself in shadows and magic, and the walls of his rooms gave way to the dark paths between the Realms, he smirked in anticipation.

He was quite looking forward to this.

* * *

_Harden and Gold's Antiques Emporium, London, 5__th__ September 1889_

Gwen sighed heavily, bored out of her mind. She had only come here to browse for a new rug for the downstairs parlour, and instead, she was stuck there listening to some vain peacock bid for a painting she didn't even like.

Not for the first time, she cursed the necessity of moving back to London, of opening up the house in Kensington, of throwing herself once more into the whole tedious rigmarole of the social whirl. She longed for the quietness of Dartmoor.

Not to mention, her neck had been burning all day.

"Are you feeling quite the thing, Lady Brandon?" her companion asked obsequiously. Mr James Edgton, Esquire of Hildern Plane in the Cotswolds, was a harmless if pompous and annoying gentleman who attached himself to Gwen's skirt train whenever she left the house. Thanks to her aunt's insistence that she bring her father down to town to see the doctors in Harley Street, she was now stuck with suitor after suitor, under the lamentable impression that because she was nearing her spinsterhood, she must be desperate for a husband.

She wanted absolutely none of them but they were a persistent bunch, and Mr Edgton the worst of the lot. And this burning sensation on her neck was not helping her temper!

"Perfectly, Mr Edgton," Gwen murmured, trying to unclench her jaw. It was starting to ache.

"Perhaps after we have finished here, you would accept an invitation to tea with Mama and my sisters?" he asked, with a patronising twinkle in his eye that made Gwen want to scream. "It would be an excellent chance to make their further acquaintance. You left us too quickly at your Aunt Hendrick's ball…"

_That is because I cannot stand you or your prattling sisters and pernicious 'Mama'…_

Just as Gwen was searching for an excuse to get out of his unwanted invitation, her eyes met those of a young gentleman standing directly opposite her, on the other side of the auction room.

She met chiselled features, austerely sensual, and deep grey eyes that held her own gaze with a hint of mischief. Wildly curling blonde hair framed his face, and he was very correctly dressed as a young gentleman should.

It couldn't be him. The colouring was all wrong, she was just imagining things.

It had been four years since that kiss in the library at Brandon House. Four long, frustrating years; not that Gwen would ever admit it. But as his mark burned on her neck, and the stranger smirked devilishly, overly familiar and all-too desired, her breath caught in her throat.

Anger raged with desire, and she was torn between looking away in disgust and throwing propriety out of the window and rushing to his arms. A burgeoning ache blossomed in her stomach, and she felt her breath grow light and fast, straining against her light day corset.

"_Follow me…"_

She did not know if she heard his voice in her mind, or if he somehow threw it across so it echoed in her ears alone, but she could not fight the compulsion to follow his command. He walked from the room, and she felt the burn in her neck grow worse. With a smooth lie about visiting the withdrawing room to Edgton, she slipped from her seat and from the room.

She saw only flashes of grey eyes, or the tail of his black coat, as she followed him determinedly through the building, deciding that if anyone called her out on her sudden intrusion, she would claim she was lost.

At last the trail ended outside of an empty office door, and she paused, her heart pounding. She should turn away now, turn away and forget the whole silly matter.

The burning on her neck and in her body would not allow it.

Gathering her courage, she pushed the door ajar and stepped through.

The room was empty and silent, and she frowned. There was little furniture in the room, except for a desk, an antique itself, some dusty looking chairs and what looked like boxes of antiques shrouded in dust covers. A storage room of some sort.

There was no fire in the old grate, and the room was cold.

* * *

Suddenly the door snapped shut, and Gwen spun around, to find the stranger from before, watching her with a confident smirk, arms crossed and nonchalantly leaned on the door.

As if by magic, which it probably was, his appearance began to change, his hair turning dark obsidian, smoothing back the curls, and his eyes changed to mischievous emerald green.

"Loki," she breathed. The burning in her neck slowly lessened, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"My lady," he purred. "Well, I must say your attire has certainly improved since last we met."

Gwen tried not to shift under his gaze, narrowing her eyes at him as his own traced up and down her fashionable grey and black walking gown and hat. Once again, her Aunt's insistence.

"You have some nerve showing your face in my presence, my _**Prince**_," she spat venomously. "Or is it customary for so-called Gods to do as you have done to their whores?"

Loki's brow furrowed, as he stepped forward, the lock sliding into place behind him, and he reached for her. "I thought we settled that you are not a whore, Gwen," he murmured, surprised when she resisted his touch. "What have I done, out of interest?"

"It's been four years!" she told him coldly, and he stared at her, stunned. Four years…

Then he remembered. Time ran differently in both Realms. While he had been on Earth for a day and a night, on Asgard, he had been gone only an afternoon. He would need to be careful in future not to leave too long between visits.

Now he looked closely…at first, as he had watched her from across the auction room downstairs, he had seen little difference except in her clothing, cut more stylishly and flatteringly, as he noticed from the garments of the few other women sitting in. He had realised the presumptuous pup sniffing around her skirts was the cause of the mark's warning, but from the look of utter boredom and ill-concealed contempt on his Gwen's face, he had not felt any jealousy. It was clear she had no attachment, and his attentions unwanted.

She looked older too, her face matured beautifully, fair and regal. A happy accident then, his blunder, that it had allowed her to flower so well, and it seemed, stoked her frustrations and desires.

"Do I sense some annoyance that I have been remiss in my attentions?" he purred, stepping into her instead of attempting to draw her to him. Her breath hitched as her breast pressed against his chest, and he gently nuzzled his mark on her neck above the collar of her jacket. "Allow me the opportunity to ease it for you…"

She opened her mouth and he seized his chance, bending his head and kissing her hotly. His tongue delved into her mouth and she moaned, her desires too strong to be denied, as he pulled her into his arms. He backed up against the desk, pulling her with him, his hands settled in the curve of her waist. She raised her hands to his hair, gliding her fingers through it and making him shiver. As he leant his weight back against the edge of the desk, it allowed him to naturally lower his height, giving Gwen the chance to meet his kiss with greater ease.

Gwen took full advantage, her boldness and frustration overcoming her natural hesitance, framing his face, her body eagerly coming alive as his hands tightened around her waist, pressed against his hips.

He broke the kiss, watching her intently, before his eyes flitted down to her jacket. "Remove your jacket, sweetling," he murmured, but despite the soft tone, Gwen was fully aware it was a command. She paused, and a fine, dark eyebrow arched. "Now, Gwen. Or are you afraid?"

She was afraid. This passion he inspired in her, it could not be good for anyone to be so consumed by such heat. What if one day he should obliterate her utterly?

But it was also insidious, compelling, as Gwen slid the catches on her jacket undone, the thick material stubbornly clinging to her arms and shoulders. Suddenly, focussed on her task, she started as long, elegant fingers slid around her waist, beneath the jacket and then drifted up, gently brushing the rise of her breasts through her filmy blouse, and helping her to push the garment off until it fell to the floor. His hands settled on her shoulders, pulling her towards him, his lips brushing hers.

Abruptly, he held her tightly and switched their positions, so she was pressed against the desk, and he stood before her, his hands caging her in either side of her hips.

"Sit on the desk," he purred, and Gwen stared at him, then at the desk. Surely not…? Loki laughed. "Interesting thought, sweetling, but you're not ready for that yet," he breathed the words into her ear. "Now _**sit**_."

"I am not a dog," Gwen enunciated clearly, before putting her nose in the air and primly settling on the desk's flat, hard surface. Loki chuckled, shaking his head.

"No, I would not have nearly so much trouble if you were," he replied, as he reached for her knees. "Now, I do believe I have some lost time to make up for…"

Gwen's legs were unresisting as he opened them, and stepped between, the skirts of her dress doing little to mask the feel of him against her abdomen. "I thought you said I was not ready…"

"Oh my sweet innocent," he shook his head, one palm splayed against her lower back, pulling her forwards so she was pressed against him. She shuddered, and he grazed her ear with his teeth. "There are many more pleasures to be had before we reach that one. Allow me to demonstrate…"

He trailed kisses from her ear to her lips, making her reach up to seal their lips together. He caught her gaze with his own, as he toyed with the tiny pearl closures of her blouse. "Trust me," he told her huskily, Gwen feeling the words against her lips more than she heard them.

"Is that not usually a foolish thing to do, God of Lies and Deceit?" she asked, her mind quickly unravelling at the feel of him, so tall and strong against her. All resistance had been swept aside, and she was impatient for his next lesson.

"In most cases, yes," he replied with a wicked grin. "But not in this. I shall not hurt you, Gwen."

"Then by all means, teach me what you know," she breathed, boldly touching the tip of her tongue to the corner of his mouth. He caught his breath, then laughed shortly, and willingly retaliated to her teasing.

Gwen drowned in the heat his kiss evoked in her, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly, her body eagerly remembering how to return his kiss. She was tentative, but he patiently re-educated her, until her mind spun with the pleasurable intimacy for their joined mouths and tongues. She moaned against his lips, utterly immersed, until she became aware of cooler air against the skin of her collarbone and chest, as he gently undid her blouse, pulling the sides apart until it gaped, displayed the scrap of chemise that covered her breasts above her day corset.

She drew back with a gasp, watching him as his eyes, darkened, intense, lowered to her bared skin. She watched as he raised his hand, sliding just the very tips of his fingers over the already hard peaks, and she gasped at the sensation, sharp as a bee sting to her untutored senses.

His touch hardened, sliding his fingers down to cup the swell of her through the linen, and then mould them over the soft, aching mound, and she cried out. He glanced up, smiling, before kissing her softly, drawing her away from his attentions to her breast, and back into his devilish kiss. Heat rushed through every vein of her body, and she cried out into his mouth as his grip firmed, and his hips rocked against her, impressing his hard body on her softening one.

It was oddly enthralling; she became softer, he harder. With every kiss, every stroke of his tongue against hers, every glide and caress of his hand on her breast, the desire deepened. She wanted more.

She slipped closer to him, gripping his thighs with her knees unconsciously. Loki smiled into their kiss. _Good girl…_

He deftly untied the small laces holding her chemise up, and then undid the stays of her corset by magic. Such awful, time-consuming contraptions. They seemed more like torture devices than suitable nightwear, even if they did accentuate a woman's waist quite nicely.

She did not stop kissing him when he slid his hand over her now bare breast, the soft white skin darkening to dusky pink at its peak, hard against his palm. If anything she just kissed him harder, testing his control.

She was a fast learner.

He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her jaw to her throat, lingering on the long column. He relished her slight gasp as he lightly nipped at her skin, before laving his mark devotedly until she was all but writhing against him. The feel of her soft body beckoning his was becoming all the harder to ignore.

He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone, and then the rise of her breast. One slender hand slipped into his hair, gripping gently, as he caressed then nipped with his lips and teeth, before trailing lower. As he took her into his mouth, she cried out and arched against him, her soft music shivering on the air. It caught Loki's senses, focussed them as the hunter is focussed on the prey, reminding him not to get too carried away.

Her skin was sweet against his tongue, as he released her waist to draw her knee up higher, pressing her more tightly against him, as she arched helplessly into his mouth and body over and over again.

He raised his head, ignoring her pleading hands with a grimly satisfied smile to meet her glazed, desire fogged eyes. "Do you want more?" he asked hoarsely, his voice a seduction of its own to Gwen's ears. She met his gaze squarely, and nodded. "Then lie back," he told her. "Raise your left leg so that your foot rests upon the surface of the desk."

Blushing slightly at the implications of his words, she did as he asked, shifting slightly into a more comfortable position on the hard wood. He caught her gaze, as his hand lowered from her waist and reached for the hem of her skirts. Her breath caught, frozen in her lungs, as he pulled them up, revealing her petticoats. With a wicked smile, supporting himself on one hand by her shoulder, he slid his other hand beneath her undergarments.

At the first touch, she exhaled suddenly and arched. His touch, knowing, expertly evocative, was so very different to his hands and lips on her breast. She was heated and wet, as he slid his fingers down, finding a spot that sent flashes of warmth and almost painful pleasure through her every nerve. He bent his head, kissing her to distract her, as she curled her fingers in his hair once more. Then his fingers pressed down and in, curving into her so slowly and gently that Gwen almost did not notice it, until his finger was deep inside of her and she was filled with him. She cried out, and her hips bucked against the slight discomfort, as he released her mouth to look down at her warmly.

"It is all right, sweetling," he told her gently. "Just relax and surrender to my touch. I will bring you only pleasure, I promise you."

Society would say that his actions were exceedingly wrong. Gwen couldn't find it in herself to care as she adjusted to his invasion, and then his finger moved, sliding in and out almost frustratingly slow, and she gasped. "Turn your head to the side," the command was husky, deliciously so, and it made her skin tremble in anticipation. She did as she was told, and his lips pressed a biting kiss to the hollow beneath her ear, trailing down, lingering on his mark until she whimpered and moved beneath him, down over her collarbone, nudging aside the gauzy fabric of her blouse, until he met her breast, taking it into his mouth.

At the same time, his finger moved, and she clenched around him, as he created a sensual torture for her, his tongue and finger moving in concert, until he added another, stretching her and filling her. She moved her hips unconsciously, pressing herself into the heel of his hand, and he chuckled against her breast.

His words were like sweet poison as he left her breast to return to her lips, turning her head gently to meet his eyes once more. Gwen could barely think, or breathe, she could only listen as his hands mercilessly teased her and filled her with pleasure, and his words drove it higher, until it became almost pain.

"Imagine me inside of you," he whispered in her ear. "It shall be soon, you are so ready for me, sweetling. I have never met anyone with quite so much natural passion hidden away beneath such a demure little mask. I could take you here and now, in this room, on this desk, and you would only beg for more."

"But I will not, not yet," he continued, as his hand paused. Gwen moaned pleadingly, she was…close, to what she knew not, but every nerve in her body was strung tight, and she sensed that what she needed was near, if he would just…move…his…bloody…hand!

"As I promised, your surrender will be gentle, tender as I teach you the heights of pleasure," he murmured in her ear. "But afterwards…"

"For the love of God!" she snapped, panting. "Stop insinuating and start doing, else I might suspect you are all talk!"

Loki's eyes flashed, and he laughed. "You are a rare one," he growled, leaning in to kiss her passionately, pressing her into the desk as his fingers gave her a salutary glide. Her gasped cry was enough to persuade him to be merciful, as he glimpsed the desperation in her eyes. Oh, how sweet it was too… "As my lady asks…"

His fingers slid deep, hard and fast, and she broke at last, her very body feeling like it had unravelled and undone, her mind turned to golden glory, as she arched into his arms, his kiss smothering her cry of ecstasy.

* * *

He withdrew his fingers, soothing her with gentle caresses, enjoying her limp compliance as he cleaned her with magic, flicking her skirts down, and cradling her in his arms.

He had certainly made the right choice in lover. When she was ready, when he took her for his own, she would possess desires the match of his own. Her gasps and moans when he was both tender and rough told him that. He would enjoy tutoring her in all that her body, and his, had to offer them both in satisfaction.

He smoothed back her hair, somewhat dishevelled from its intricate bun, looking forward to the day he would see it down and tumbling wildly around her shoulders as he claimed her for the first time. The thought alone made him shudder.

Suddenly, he was drawn from his fantasies, as Gwen's small hand turned his face to her own, and she kissed him tenderly. It was chaste, gentle, yet Loki was inwardly stunned by it. He did not know why, but it rocked him to the core. He claimed her lips, swollen and red by his kisses and her incessant lip biting, and replaced the last of her garments until she was decent once more.

"I must return you to your companions," he whispered against her lips at her questioning look. She nodded, and reluctantly left his arms, Gwen's entire body feeling as light as air, and about as substantial. Pleasant aftershocks rippled across her thighs and spine, and she tried to repress her shiver as she picked up her hat from where she had dropped it, and turned to face her lover and tutor with some degree of composure.

It was that mask of composure that irked him, he decided. Having felt her come apart beneath his fingers and tongue, such silly shows of decorum annoyed him. There was no shame in acknowledging the fact she was his, and she knew it.

"Thank you for my lesson, my Prince," she bowed her head cordially. "It was most…instructive."

"And I hope satisfactory?" he asked, hiding his own neglected desire carefully. No need for her to sense her power over him.

Gwen's answering smile was wicked. "Somewhat," she murmured airily. "However I might need a second session to be certain."

"Indeed," he drawled. "It will be soon, I promise you. Good day, Lady Brandon."

"Good day to you, my Prince," she replied, inclining her head haughtily and making him chuckle as she swept out of the door, her stride lazy and slow, as he followed her, reasserting his glamour spell, masking his features, and watched her rejoin the throng.

He laughed when he heard her reply to that vain shadow of hers' comment about ladies taking so long in the withdrawing room. Something about women's prerogatives and gentlemen not nosing about in such matters.

That was his fiery Gwen.

As the gentleman, chastened, turned away, she turned and looked back at him, leaning over the banister of the stairway, watching her with a twinkle in his eye. She smirked challengingly, and he grinned, before winking rakishly at her and disappearing from sight, as he stepped away from Earth and back onto the paths between Realms.

He needed to return before he was missed. Again.

* * *

**A/N: I just wrote 4000 words of smut...I blame Loki's Dirty Whispers tumblr...and Loki...they're bad influences on me...;P**

**To be continued...**


	5. Piano

Mischief's Lover

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warning: Explicit Content.

* * *

_**Prompt #5: Piano**_

_Park House, Park Lane, London, 7__th__ September, 1889_

Gwen sighed as she sat on the chaise in the corner of the parlour, listening disinterestedly while her Aunt Hendricks, Mr Edgton, Mrs Edgton, the Misses Edgton, Lord Howell and Sir Walter Ricks all chatted blithelyabout what felt like the most inane things possible.

It only been a rather small _informal_ ball, since the Season was far past its zenith and not many beyond the political and diplomatic circles were still in town, but it still grated on Gwen's nerves.

Not least, the clinging attentions of the Edgtons. And the half-approving, half-hopeful looks of her Aunt. Clearly, as she was now twenty-five, the nosy, interfering old harpy was determined to see her marry off.

As if she would ever marry such a vacuous, pompous character as Mr Edgton.

Besides, it was not like she _could_. Firstly there was Papa, who needed her, both to assist him and to help run the estates, and then secondly…there was Loki.

His mark burned on her neck whenever Edgton, or any of the other suitors who sniffed around her skirts like eager puppies. Really, she would have to tell him to take it off of her when they next met. Whenever that would be…

Truly she did not want anyone other than the utterly impossible, mischievous deity who appeared to her as tutor and lover. She did not love him, but he had and would teach her so much. She would not, and did not wish to, leave her father and beloved home, which would be hers on his death, yet neither was she bound to a lifetime of loneliness, at least until Loki tired of her. He would, she had no doubt of that. He was immortal, and she human. She would age and wither, and when she did, he would want no more of her.

But while she still had her youth, she would make the most of it.

And Good Lord, he was showing her so much…just the memory of his fingers, his lips, his tongue…

Gwen was glad the gown she wore was at least partially revealing. While she despised the amorous and admiring looks from her suitors, it at least prevented her from overheating.

Just thinking about him was enough to make her heart race. He had said it would be soon, his next lesson, but when…?

Dear Lord, she was sounding ridiculous! She had lived quite well enough before his rather sudden intrusion into her life, she would not pine after him like a schoolgirl with a crush!

Suddenly she felt her neck burn, and she had to grit her teeth to hide her gasp. At least it stopped Edgton in whatever pompous recollection he had been engrossed in. unfortunately, it also fixed everyone else's attention on her.

"Are you quite alright, Lady Brandon?" Mr Edgton inquired obsequiously.

"Quite alright, Mr Edgton. I just need to step outside to get some air. There will be no need to accompany me," she replied curtly, eying him repressively until he subsided, the ladies looking at her, scandalised.

"But, my dear," her Aunt began reprovingly, before Gwen turned to her dismissively.

"I said there will be no need. I am just visiting the withdrawing room," she cut her off coldly. She had no love for her interfering old aunt, who cared little for her father beyond the estate, and would rather see it under the control of a man than Gwen when the time came. Unhappily for her, Gwen couldn't care less about marrying, or having a man to run Brandon House for her. She was perfectly capable.

So she was utterly unconcerned, even when she felt the scandalised and censorious glares on her back as she walked away, out of the parlour, and towards the withdrawing room.

She didn't get far before she heard _his_ voice in her head.

_This way, my Gwen…_

Despite the complete madness of the situation, she followed his instructions without question, moving further into Park House.

* * *

Loki was waiting for her in the music room, dressed once more in Midgardian attire, but with his own features, and as she stepped over the threshold, she felt the door close softly of its own accord behind her, the key turning in the lock.

He smiled darkly, as she paused before him.

She looked ethereally lovely in that gown, a deep shade of indigo, shining iridescently in the soft electric lighting. Delicate lace dripped from her elbows, and a spray of purple orchids trembled at her décolletage with each breath, matching the flowers in her upswept hair. Diamonds winked at her ears and throat.

Straightening from his lean against the piano, he seductively crossed the room, his gait slow and graceful, fully conscious that she could not run, even if she wanted to, fully conscious he had all the time in the world.

She tried not to show any response, any reaction, but he could see it in the way the flowers at her breast and in her hair trembled slightly, and the parted lips just waiting for his kiss.

He had managed to come up with a far better excuse this time than a 'headache'. He had told Father he had gone hunting, and he wished to go alone. No one had split any hairs over the infamously solitary Prince's wishes.

All to the good. It also meant he had a few days on Earth before he would be missed. Perfect.

He stopped beside her, his eyes lazily taking in her dress and body, as she fought not to shift under his gaze, as heavy as any physical touch.

"I must say, coming to the capital of this country has done wonders for your attire," he drawled, stepping around her, until she stood with her back against his chest, his arms loosely strung around her waist, as he ghosted his mouth over his mark.

"The demands of fashionable society," she breathed, her neck arching against his mouth like a cat, purring, when her owner strokes her. The thought would have made Loki laugh, were it not for the extreme likelihood that Gwen would slap him for it.

"Tell me, are all Midgardian males this dense?" he asked, into her ear. "That Edgton man certainly cannot tell when a lady is intentionally slighting him."

"I've long suspected he possesses only one mindset: pompous," she muttered, and he laughed. She truly was a delicious spirit.

"I'm oddly curious to know your suspicions of me…" he trailed off, his hands tightening around her waist as he pulled her back against his hips. Her smile when she turned her face to his was pure coy mischief, sending shivers down his spine.

"Well that would be telling," she breathed. "What are you planning to teach me tonight?"

"Well, your tongue is somewhat to be desired, my lady," he chuckled against her lips. "You speak to me as if I were one of those lowly mortals. We cannot have that, I should teach you the correct way to speak to a Prince."

"I am breathless to learn," Gwen muttered, with just a hint of sarcasm. Loki smirked.

"You shall be by the time I am done with you," he replied confidently. "Now I rather enjoyed your little recital earlier this evening…"

Gwen sighed. All the young ladies had clustered around the piano, and even Gwen had been obliged to make a contribution, one she had kept rather short. Despite what her aunt thought, she was no young lady needing to attract suitors with her musical skills.

Loki continued like he hadn't heard her sigh. "…Perhaps you might consent to a private one?"

"I am not that proficient," Gwen replied mutinously, despite stepping towards the instrument. "What if someone should hear?"

"I have placed a spell on this room. No one will hear a thing, even if they stood outside the door with their ear placed against it," he told her, following behind as she placed herself on the stool. Gwen sucked in a breath when he sat down behind her, his legs bracketing hers tightly, his arms around her waist, his voice in her ear. "So you may scream all you wish, and you will, I promise you."

"Rather overconfident in your skill, are you not, my Prince?" she replied haughtily, determinedly placing her fingers on the keys. Abruptly, he tilted her head back, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth, as she moaned helplessly beneath his onslaught, one hand leaving the ivory keys to clutch his hair.

"Have I ever given you reason to doubt otherwise?" he growled when their lips parted, taking hold of her hand and placing it back on the keys. "Now, play, and keep playing, my Gwen. No matter what."

"What shall I play?" she inquired, as she fought back her instinctive shudder at the dark promise in his warning.

"I do not know the music of this Realm. Play anything," he replied, as she turned her face back to the piano. He gently bit her earlobe, but beyond a shudder, she did not react further. He smiled wickedly.

Determinedly putting her tormentor out of her mind, for now at least, she set her hands to the keys, and began to play. At first, she merely played random snippets of music, before settling on a piece from Schubert. She remembered it was once her father's favourite.

Loki found himself pleasantly surprised by Gwen's skill. Listening, cloaked and unseen, in the parlour earlier, she had seemed mediocre, but here, in comparable privacy, her playing was transformed. It was not perfect, but it was still beautiful to listen to.

He was almost loath to interrupt her, but…he would be remiss in his duties as her tutor if he were to become distracted. Perhaps another time…

Gwen sucked in a breath as long, elegant fingers danced teasingly down her waist.

"Keep playing," he purred, as the pure, clear notes stuttered slightly. Gwen eyed him narrowed, but he returned her stare steadily, unwaveringly, until she turned back to her playing.

As soon as she pressed the keys again, Gwen felt those fingers slide down, into her lap, and she drew in a tight breath.

She was reminded of those fingers, those clever, devious fingers, pleasuring her there before, and she shifted between his legs. He grinned against her neck, as his fingers curved in to the 'V' of her legs, pressing against her through the layers of her petticoats and skirts.

She shuddered, but did not falter. Smiling, he did it again and again, until her hands trembled on the keys. But she still did not falter.

"Don't stop, sweetling," he murmured in her ear, as he stilled his fingers and gently tangled them in her indigo skirts. He inched them, relishing her steadily, shakily, indrawn breath, until her legs were exposed to him. Teasingly, he caressed her knees, tracing his fingertips around the smooth curve, before drawing them up, following the soft rise of her thigh, until he met her hips. Gwen sucked in an anticipatory breath.

Loki grinned.

Trying not to feel disappointed as his fingers once more dropped to her knees, Gwen was surprised when they slipped down between her legs, tracing up the sensitive inner faces. Unconsciously, she parted them, as he pressed a rewarding kiss to her neck.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Now don't stop playing, no matter what."

_And how am I supposed to do so, with your fingers driving me insane…?_

Gwen didn't voice her thoughts, but they were clear in the look she gave him over her shoulder. Amused, he bent his head and kissed her deeply, his tongue possessively bedevilling her own.

So she was unprepared when his fingers slipped down, over the juncture of her thighs, and inside, one sliding into her slowly, as she gasped. Abandoning her playing entirely, uncaring of the consequences, Gwen twined one arm around her lover's neck, her fingers delving into his dark hair, kissing him heatedly.

Loki groaned, inwardly cursing both him and her, especially her propensity to snatch the reins from him. Time for the lesson to progress.

* * *

Without warning, he withdrew his fingers, swept her into his arms and deposited her on the piano's surface, facing him, her legs splayed and her body exposed to him. Blinking, stunned, Gwen breathlessly drew back, before glancing down between them. She was too high for him to…take things further, so what was he about?

"Dear me, Gwen. You are a defiant one," he growled against her lips, the flowers at her breast shaking with each breath. "I told you not to stop playing, no matter what. Methinks you need a lesson in obedience as well as respect."

Challenge flashed in Gwen's eyes, and he smirked, shaking his head. "Foolish mortal," he hissed, pressing a teasing kiss to her lips. "I will make you forget your own name before I am done. The only name in your mind will be my own."

He pulled her back down to him by the nape of her neck, and she shuddered in pure anticipation as his tongue caressed hers. He pulled from her lips, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, then to her neck, laving his mark, before trailing his tongue down her collarbone and the rise of her breasts. To Gwen's surprise, he did not linger, nor did he open her bodice, but he glanced up at her mischievously.

Suddenly she was pushed back, and cold air caressed her legs before it was replaced by Loki's hands, gently but firmly easing her thighs apart further, wedging them with his broad shoulders.

His mouth pressed against her stomach, muted by the heavy fabric of her gown and corset, moving down over the froth of her skirts and petticoats. Gwen tensed, her body realising what was coming before her mind did, but by that time, it was far too late.

Loki's tongue gently flicked over her swollen folds, inexorably drawing a gasp out of her, as Gwen's hand shot down to his hair, whether to push him away or pull him closer, she did not know.

She did the latter. Loki's tongue was inescapable, as he pushed her through a rising crescendo of pleasure and desire, her entire body licked by flames with each caress, each flick, each hungry kiss. Her entire body quivered, and she gasped his name, her spine arching.

Then she felt him enter her, his tongue pushing deep inside, and she cried out, her hand clenching in his hair. His hands slid under her, clasping the globes of her bottom, hungrily pressing her into his mouth. He felt oddly determined to make his own words come true, to destroy her utterly with pleasure. This was the last stop on their road to intimacy, and he wanted to ensure she would beg him for more the next time he came to her.

Because he too desired her surrender, and soon.

On the thought, he withdrew his tongue, savouring the taste of her, replacing his tongue with his fingers while he returned to his previous attentions. Gwen was a trembling, writhing mess, and he reached up with his free hand, roughly caressing her breast through her gown.

Loki's name burst from Gwen's lips, as pleasure coalesced in her blood and overwhelmed her mind, ruthlessly destroying her very sanity until she was just a sobbing, writhing, mindless vessel, destroyed by her lover and remade into whatever he desired of her. He showed her heaven.

* * *

He eased her back down to earth, soothing her with gentle caresses, flicking down her skirts and cleaning her with his magic. Her body trembled with the warm aftermath racking her body. He gently swung her into his arms, sitting down on a chaise, with her in his arms, lying against his chest, as she slowly recovered from the pleasure he had shown her.

As he relaxed against the cushions, he stroked her hair, grazing the silken flowers in her hair, miraculously still in place, and wondered at the odd feeling of contentment while he held her in his arms. He traced his fingers over the rise of her naked shoulder, and chuckled to himself.

Gwen's weakly murmured comment turned that chuckle into a laugh. "Now I know why else you are named Silvertongue."

"There is more still, I promise you, sweetling," he breathed into her hair. "Soon."

"Good," she replied. "Did it not embarrass you, pleasuring me so?"

Loki frowned. "Why should it?" he asked curiously. Gwen glanced at him, her eyes still glazed, but a hint of surprise in them.

"It is thought to be demeaning," she explained. "To men and to women. In fact, it is thought that young women of gentle birth have no business enjoying such pleasures. It is unnatural."

Loki rolled his eyes. "It is the most natural thing in the world. It pleases me to hear you cry out in pleasure, whether from my hands or my tongue, and I have no desire to bed an unresponsive statue. I offered my experience to you because I saw in you a passion that I have seen in few others, even at home. It is not something to be ashamed of, and I will not tolerate it. Understood?"

"Do I look ashamed?" Gwen replied challengingly, raising one brow. Loki sighed.

"I see you still have not learned your lesson," he growled, bending his head. At her confused look, he continued. "About the correct way to address a Prince."

Gwen laughed against his lips. "Then teach me, my Prince," she breathed, before reaching up and kissing him. Loki found himself laughing, aroused and excited by her defiance and spirit.

His body demanded her, and he smiled to himself. Soon.


	6. Proposal

Mischief's Lover

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: None.

_**A/N: **_Oh dear God, you would not believe the argument I'm having on Youtube about Loki. Seriously, I wonder if this person even watched either movie, or they're just winding me up. Storywise...well, I couldn't just do **all** smut. What kind of writer do you think I am...? ;P

* * *

_**Prompt #6: Proposal**_

_223 Cavendish Square, London, 9__th__ September, 1889_

The square outside rang with the _clip-clop_ of horses' hooves and peoples heels, as the fashionable paraded up and down, hurrying to Bruton Street, or to Regents' Park. The noise, a crescendo of everyday life, was dampened by the thick lace blinds shielding the occupant of the dark room beyond.

Gwen sat ensconced on the chaise before the fire, engrossed in a book. She had pleaded off afternoon tea with the Edgtons, much to her Aunt's displeasure, but she couldn't care less.

Her Aunt had given her dire warnings about letting this chance slip away, and dying an old maid. She had rolled her eyes at the time, but it did worry her. What if Edgton did propose? What he went straight to Father?

So she had instead, and he had firmly agreed with her. No matter what Aunt Hendricks said, if Gwen didn't wish to marry, then she wouldn't. Simple as that.

If only Mr Edgton and Aunt Hendricks saw it that way. Gwen was waiting for the axe to fall, and purposefully snubbing the Edgtons was her only recourse. She had no intention of binding herself to any man, least of all him. She could only hope he would take the hint and find some naïve, wealthy, meek, submissive little chit out of the schoolroom to wed instead.

Unfortunately, it was not to be.

Raised voices reached her ears, and she looked up in alarm. Exasperation bloomed when she recognised Mr Edgton's dulcet voice, followed by Norwood, the butler's, protesting his entry.

"Sir! This really is most reprehensible! Lady Brandon is indisposed and does not wish to see anyone!"

"Nonsense. She will see me, I am sure!"

Gwen sighed, closing her book. Well, she always did prefer head-on confrontation to beating around the bush.

"It's all right, Norwood. I shall take it from here," she called to the dour butler, who looked only moments away from grabbing Mr Edgton by his lapels and dumping him outside the front door. "Mr Edgton. What may I do for you?"

He smiled, almost beaming with his own self-importance, making Gwen's lip curl with disgust. Preferring not to provide any cannon fodder for the servants' gossip mill, she led the way back into the library.

Edgton barely waited for the door to close before he was stood before her, arms outstretched.

"My lady, my dearest, sweetest Lady Brandon. You can be at no loss as to my presence here. I apologise for my rudeness, but when your Aunt told me of your indisposition, I could not wait a moment longer!" he enthused, stepping forward. The mark on Gwen's neck burned, and she fought back her instinctive gasp. She was too slow to move back, as he reached out, grasping her hands before sinking to his knees.

Oh, for goodness' sake! Gwen resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I have waited, and hoped, since our first meeting, and now I am happy to know I may ask, with certainty. My own estate, as you know, is not inconsiderable, and combining our two fortunes will yield a comfortable sum. Of course, you will not need to worry your head over such things. Your father and I shall ensure you have no worries whatsoever, as befits a lady of your station."

Her neck burned hotter, and she gritted her teeth, wishing he would just get on with it. It was like having a tooth pulled out.

"You cannot be ignorant about the approval our alliance would bring, to both our families and society in general. Our marriage will no doubt be a happy one-"

Gwen's temper exploded at that one. "Mr Edgton, I have not heard any such proposal, and I resent any implication that I would agree like some empty-headed schoolgirl!" she snapped, pulling her hands out of his, glaring down at him coldly. A look to freeze a man to the spot.

"I resent your confidence that I would agree to your suit, and can only imagine that my Aunt has been interfering where she has no right-"

"But, my lady-" Edgton tried to interject, his face turning red, but Gwen held up a hand.

"I have never acknowledged or given any indication that I welcomed either your suit or your attentions-"

"Of course you would not! It would certainly be improper for such a noble lady!" Edgton replied condescendingly. Gwen rolled her eyes.

"Mr Edgton, if I like a man, you may be certain I will inform him of that fact. I am not a schoolgirl, I am not some blushing debutante, and I think you mistake me for such. Rest assured I do not, will not and can not accept any attempt at a proposal you might attempt. My answer, unequivocal and unyielding, is _**no**_!"

Edgton gaped at her, his chest blowing like a fish out of water. With a sigh, Gwen rang the bell for Norwood. The butler appeared within moments, bowing slightly. "Mr Norwood, please show Mr Edgton out. Oh, and if my Aunt should call, refuse her entry. She and hers are not welcome under this roof!"

"Indeed, my lady. Come along, sir," he pulled at Mr Edgton's arm, who resisted for a moment.

"My Lady, my offer will not be made again-" he muttered sullenly, and she rolled her eyes openly.

"Hallelujah!" she snapped, and with a huff, Mr Edgton turned away and stormed from the house, and from Gwen's life.

The burning in her neck, a constant warning and companion, subsided as the door closed behind him.

* * *

Loki watched from the shadows, unseen, unheard. He smiled as he stepped forward, towards his young lover, resplendent in her emerald green gown, shining in the soft light of the fire.

He felt her tense in his arms as they slid around her waist, still unseen, still invisible, but she knew he was there. He brushed his lips over his mark, as she moaned, and sank into him willingly.

He was proud of her, exceedingly so. His proud, untameable, indomitable Gwen, a warrior goddess in mortal form. Just watching her verbally dissect that insufferable fop with pretensions to _**his**_ Gwen had filled him with desire.

He wouldn't wait for much longer.

Gwen shuddered with longing and anticipation, as one word, steeped in sensuous, velvety tones, echoed in her ear and body.

"Tonight."


	7. Candlelight

Mischief's Lover

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: Explicit Content

* * *

_**Prompt #7 'Candlelight'**_

_223 Cavendish Square, London, 9__th__ September, 1889_

Gwen had never felt such a heightened state of nervousness and anticipation. All through dinner, she had sat, on edge, stretched taut like a bowstring. One pluck, and she'd snap.

Even Papa noticed, when she went up to visit him before she went to bed. As she sat in the old wingback, eying her with a twinkling light in his tired, old eyes.

"Heard you turned down the Edgton boy. Never liked him," he muttered gruffly, patting her hand. "Good on you, girl. Got your mother's spirit."

The remembrance of it lent a sad edge to her smile, as she stepped into her bedchamber. Millie, her London ladies' maid stepped from the shadows to help her undress, and she felt the restrictions of the corset loosen with an exhale of relief. As she changed into a nightgown and robe made of loose, floating silk and lace, Millie curtseyed and left the room after turning down the bed.

Gwen sat at her dressing table, watching the candle Millie had left behind, eyes becoming lost in the hypnotic swaying of the tiny flame.

She was so worried about her father, about his health. As soon as she could, she was taking him back to the country. Her Aunt Hendricks could take her Harley Street doctors and do with them what she liked, for Gwen cared.

She didn't want to lose him too soon in her life. She was twenty-four years old; she still needed her father.

* * *

Loki watched his lady from the shadows, watched the sadness in her young face. The glow from her fiery confrontation with Edgton that afternoon was long dissipated, and she looked forlorn and lost, a sight Loki didn't like.

A surge of protectiveness swelled within him, even as desire rose with it, as he eyed the fall of her plaited hair against her neck, the gentle light of the candles on her dressing table and beside her bed. They gave a soft, flickering, golden light, kinder and gentler than the harsh electric lighting which dominated then.

More sensuous as well.

As for that nightgown…well, he was going to have to remind himself that he had promised her gentle and tender for the first time. If she wore anything like that again, however…well, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

It was simple enough, a plain sheath of clinging white silk, but trailing lace draped her breasts, and the back of the robe was transparent, giving him a taunting view of the skin of her back and shoulders. Lust lanced through him, and he could stay in the shadows no more.

* * *

Gwen felt the slight pull as the ribbon binding her hair was gently freed. Instead of tensing, of reacting with fear and shock, she smiled, a sly, womanly smile of anticipation, her nerves dissipated by the warm fingers combing out her long tresses, until they lay free and tumbling over her shoulders.

"You look sad tonight, my lady," he breathed, as she opened her eyes to find him stood behind her, his long fingers fanning out across her shoulders, gripping gently. "You should be celebrating your victory, and anticipating your prize. What saddens you?"

Gwen was surprised he was concerned. It touched her, but she had to remind herself that this was not love. He didn't love her, not like that, and she shouldn't read into it.

She didn't need love anyway.

"It's nothing," she breathed, not quite meeting his eyes. He looked so dark, so dangerous, a towering statue of black leather and pale skin, tall and stony in the soft candlelight. "I believe you have a promise to keep, my Prince."

Loki noted the evasion, but let it pass. He would find out soon enough.

Slowly he perched on the edge of the stool, just wide enough to seat them both, as she turned slightly to meet his hand, when he raised it to caress her face. The other slid around her waist, sliding her forward until her thigh pressed against his, and they both shuddered.

"I believe I do, my lady," he whispered heatedly, leaning as she raised her lips. Her tongue was bold and yearning when it met his as their lips joined, and he had to restrain a groan as she kissed him hotly, intent on exploring and claiming every inch of his mouth. He was surprised at her sudden flare of dominance, as her hand buried itself in his hair and gripped, before he retook control. He was the master in this arena, she his slave.

It was far too easy. She was still too much a novice to control him for long.

Gwen gasped as he tilted his head over hers, giving him greater depth as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, pulling an abandoned moan from her lips. He wrested from her lips, trailing wet kisses down her neck, pausing over his mark, lathing it with tongue and teeth as she cried out, the familiar burning bringing pleasure instead of pain now.

It spread like wildfire through her body, down to every extremity, until she was consumed with it. His arms pulled her forward, making her arch back, curving her spine as his lips trailed down the flirting lace, and to her breast, taking one silk shrouded peak into his mouth and biting her gently. Her soft cry was enough to focus him, to steady him as he stood, bringing her with him.

"When I take you," he began, his voice a low, warning growl of its usual sophisticated self. "There will be no turning back. You will be irrevocably mine."

Why he was warning her again, he had no idea. He had told her this when he first made his offer, but for some reason, her vulnerability and sadness had compelled him to warn her again.

Gwen's eyes searched her, before that same slow, womanly smile stretched her swollen lips, and she stepped away, walking slowly towards the bed, her hips swaying with a sensual unconsciousness that drew him with her. She turned about when she reached the bed, eyes now shadowed by the candlelight, her wavy hair tumbling wildly, making his hands physically itch to bury themselves in it.

He envisaged doing so while sunk deep in her body, as her eyes widened with every thrust, and her lips parted in a silent plea. It made him shudder with fierce desire, hot and irresistible.

He had promised her gentle. He would keep it, for now.

She smiled, knowingly, and dropped her robe, letting it fall like a silken wraith to the floor behind her, forgotten. "I'm yours, my Prince," she murmured. "So come and claim your prize."

He smiled as he stepped forward, reaching out and bringing her soft, yielding body against his. Both shuddered at the contact, as Gwen twined her arms around his neck, eyes open and accepting, their lips brushing.

"I made you another promise, my Gwen, and I will keep it," he hissed, before he kissed her deeply, searchingly, as she moaned and stretched up against him, cushioning his arousal with her stomach. He gently bit her earlobe with his teeth, before pressing a sweet kiss to the spot beneath, and whispering against it. "Both parts."

It was clear when he drew back that she knew what he was talking about, and it was equally clear she was unfazed and fearless. His warrior maiden, soon to be a maid no more.

He let his hand drop down over the curve of her bottom, pushing her into him. One elfin hand slipped from his neck, down to the lapel of his surcoat, pushing at it insistently. With a sly smirk, he drew back from her lips.

"Now, I appear to be rather overdressed, my dear," he growled, as comprehension dawned. "Undress me, Gwen."

Gwen refused to acknowledge the butterflies turning her stomach to liquid, as she reached out, searching beneath the ridge of leather on his tunic for the fastenings. Feeling slightly flustered, she grit her teeth when she encountered a knot, and her trembling fingers struggled to unpick it.

Loki was not helping matters. His lips danced along the ridge of her cheekbone, her jaw, her neck, his slender fingers slipping the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders, opening up more of the vista of her décolletage for his lips to mark. He chuckled at her discomfiture, and she sent him a dark glare, daring to meet his eyes.

With a determined pull, she freed the laces, and steadily worked at the rest until the tunic gaped beneath her hands. Fascinated by the sculpted, smooth body revealed, she placed a palm against his breast, feeling the throb of his pulse against her hand. Feeling her usual boldness return, she leaned up, pressing her lips to his neck as he had done to her, she steadily worked downwards, running her tongue over his skin, inwardly smiling when she felt his indrawn breath.

She pushed off his tunic and surcoat, leaving him bare-chested before her, and swallowed to ease the dryness of her mouth. He was beautiful, chiselled but not so overtly muscular that she would fear being crushed. He looked like Michelangelo's David, lean and with skin like marble, except that there was the occasional scar that marred his perfection.

She pressed one last kiss to his sternum, feeling the throb of his heart beat against her tongue, before glancing up, wondering if he was displeased by her boldness. When she met his eyes, they blazed with an emerald fire, as he trailed his fingers across her cheekbone, and into the tumbling curls against her neck.

He pulled her lips back to his, kissing her with a passion that left her breathless and dizzy, as she eagerly glided her hands across his chest and shoulders, clutching the tight skin. Loki's hand returned to its previous haunt, caressing gently before inching the skirts of her nightgown up, high enough that he could slip his hand beneath.

Gwen's breath shuddered, as his fingers slid over her heated folds, as pleasure washed over her. He caught her lips again, refocusing her attention on him, on his kiss, so she was unprepared when one finger glided deep into her, and she gasped.

She met his eye, twinkling, simmering with mischief, as he moved her back towards the bed. She was paralysed, unable to move under her own volition, thanks to the finger shifting and flexing inside of her. Abruptly, Loki slipped his boot behind her ankle, tumbling her back onto the soft velvet covers, at the same time removing his hand from her body. She gasped with disappointment and relief, as she was finally able to breathe again.

* * *

Loki crawled over her, powerful and graceful, looming over her like a triumphant predator. He bent his head, kissing her deeply, snaring her hands when they went to slide into his hair, pinning them to the bed either side of her head.

He broke the kiss long enough to whisper hoarsely, "Keep your hands to yourself, sweetheart. Do otherwise, and there will be consequences you may not be ready for."

Gwen felt a slight spark of fear inside of her, as his eyes turned from simmering to burning, and she uneasily wondered what he meant. Nonetheless, it only spiced the intoxicating mix of desire swirling inside of her, in her blood, in the warmth pooling deep in her core.

Loki noted it, mentally smirked at the sight. Fear could be as heady an intoxicant, when combined with lust, as anything else. It would not last for long, not his indomitable Gwen.

Gwen, for once in her life, obediently kept her hands resting on the covers by her head, nestled in the long curls that were splayed across the dark fabric. Loki bent his head to hers again, moving his hand to her leg, currently lying passively beneath his. He smoothed one hand up the lithe curve of her calf, to her knee, bending it and pulling it up against his hip, opening her up so his hips were cradled in hers. She gasped at the sensation of his arousal pressed against her, especially when he rocked his hips again, his hand slipping beneath the clinging silk and possessively splaying over the trembling muscle.

His hips began to rock against hers, and Gwen arched, shocked by the intense pleasure his movements elicited, but as she moved her own hips instinctively, she found the pleasure only grew, and it gave her a tantalising glimpse of her own power.

But now as the time to learn, not to lead, so she willingly let Loki set the pace, as he drew moan after moan from her, driving her into a heated, wanton abandonment that made her clutch the bed sheets. Loki smirked as he lifted his head, pleased with her abandonment. He had known there was a wild Valkyrie beneath that demure façade somewhere, and she was starting to emerge, like a butterfly from a chrysalis.

And he was getting desperate for release of his own.

Deciding she was more than ready for the next step in their journey, he snapped his fingers, intensifying the light of the candles just a little, so he could see every plane of her body, lined with golden warmth, needy and begging.

For _**him**_.

There had always been a lack within him, for centuries, ever since he came to full manhood. He knew the reason for it, the cause that plagued him every waking moment, but he refused to let it rule him, here, now.

Because Gwen answered that lack.

At that thought, both disquieting and intriguing, he broke their lengthy kiss and laved her neck and collarbone with his tongue, before moving down to the still covered peaks of her breasts. He dampened the silk, before trailing down, imprinting the soft flesh of her stomach and abdomen with his teeth and tongue.

Gwen's breath stopped altogether when she felt his warm breath gently washing over her, where he had pleasured her before. Barely able to think through the morass of longing and desire, a whimpered, incoherent plea fell from her lips, and Loki smiled.

He would have been worried in his abilities if she was still coherent. "What was that, sweetling? I didn't catch that…"

Gwen glared at him half-heartedly, and he restrained a laugh, although the slight chuckle that escaped him made her shiver from his close proximity. "I said…" she gasped, her breasts rising and falling erratically. "Isn't it usually dark…night, I mean, for this?"

"Oh my little innocent," he shook his head. "Why would I deny myself the pleasure of seeing you so lost in passion?"

Before Gwen could retort, he wedged her thighs open with his shoulders, and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, trailing down until he reached her silken folds. Gwen tensed and arched at the first touch of his lips against her, followed by his tongue, her entire body arching as he eased it inside her, finding a place deep inside that made her limbs turn to molten heat.

* * *

Loki drove her higher, relishing her whimpering moans, her cries, and made a mental note to always shroud their encounters so no one else could ever have the pleasure of hearing her voice raised in ecstasy. That was his privilege alone.

He felt her tense, on the final step before heaven, and gently flicked her with his tongue, sending her over the edge. She cried out his name, and then relaxed, boneless as he knelt between her thighs, watched her as she slowly returned to her senses.

Filled with an odd sort of tenderness, as he watched her blink her eyes wide, arms strung out above her head and hair deliciously ruffled, he leant forward, catching her gaze as he grasped the hem of her nightgown, tangled around the top of her thighs. In one swift movement, he uncovered her, gazing over her slender body appreciatively, before lowering himself onto her and kissing her deeply.

Gwen could taste her essence on his tongue, felt the scorching heat of his muscles against her naked body, and gasped in delight as her tired body awoke, eager for more. The feel of his lips against hers, his tongue possessively duelling hers, was enough to ground her, and she cautiously lowered her hands to his back. Far from displeased, he groaned into their kiss as she squeezed his shoulders, marvelling at the smoothness of his skin, occasionally marked by the roughness of scar tissue. His still clad lower body shifted against her, and she moaned.

Loki forced himself to remember his promise, especially as his sweet little innocent was intent on driving him _**insane**_, but enough was enough. She was more than ready for him now.

He used magic to rid himself of his remaining garments, before gathering her in his arms and rearranging her as he saw fit. He sat back on his haunches, holding Gwen over him, on her knees. He twined her arms around his neck, and pulled her hips forward, catching her eye and holding it.

There was still such innocence there, fractured by the desire and need he saw, and had sensed from their first meeting. That innocence would soon be lost, and he treasured the gift she was willing to give him. Unlike Thor, he did not tally maidenheads as others did hits on an archery range.

Her breathing was harsh and erratic against his lips, and he saw that flash of fear again. It called to a darker side of him, one that relished it just as he relished her obvious need.

Because, regardless of that fear, she did not let it rule her.

"My Gwen," he breathed. "There's no going back now."

That fear faded, to be replaced by exasperation, as she rolled her eyes and flicked her hair out, so it fanned over her shoulders, in a coppery, rippling waterfall.

"At _**last**_," she hissed back, bending her head and kissing him, caressing his tongue with hers, making him groan. He didn't try to hide it this time; evidently he had taught her _**too**_ well.

Using his grip on her hips, he gently pulled her down, guiding her onto him. Her breath hitched at the first touch of his body against hers, slick, hot and harder than steel. With a determined huff, she sank down further, of her own accord, grimacing as her body reacted to the intrusion.

But with all the pain, and there was a great deal of it, Gwen was overwhelmed by the rightness of it. She fit him, and he fit her, despite the fact he was not mortal, nor was she was immortal. Here, now, they were a man and woman, and they fit.

The rightness, the sense of completion, was enough to bring tears to Gwen's eyes, as she broke their kiss and rested her head in the crook of his neck. Loki held her there, stroking her soft hair, damp from sweat, and ignored the driving urge to take her as ruthlessly as he wanted.

That was for later. Now…

Eventually, her breathing levelled out, and her body slowly relaxed. Carefully, he extended his magic, easing the muscles in her legs and pelvis, easing their way so she would not feel so much pain, both then and after. While he wanted her to feel the pain of losing her maidenhood, to make her feel the knowledge of what she had done, the bargain she had struck in giving herself to him, he didn't want her to suffer. He wanted her pleasure, as well as his.

She raised her head, and he saw the awareness of their position, her state, in their dark orbs. She tightened around him instinctively, and he grimaced, fighting back his inevitable reaction.

Smiling, thrilled by that surge of power again, struck by the hot fullness inside of her, Gwen eased from his hold, taking her own weight and sinking down of her own accord, and then rising up once more. His hands remained on her hips, but loosely, as she learned how to ride him. The feeling, still mingled with pain, a deep ache permeating her abdomen and thighs, only became more pleasurable, as the oddness of the sensation faded and felt so very right.

"Gwen…are you well?" she felt Loki whisper against her ear. She paused, meeting his eyes, glazed with lust, his entire body trembling with restraint. She smiled warmly.

"Never better," she breathed, kissing him gently.

"Good, because I believe I have a slight problem that is distinctly _**your**_ fault," he hissed, and she laughed, shifting her against him, making him shudder. "Woman, you are trying my patience."

"Heaven forbid, I do so, my Prince," she retorted teasingly. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it, lest I start to suspect you really are all talk!"

He growled at that, and tipped her back on the bed, pinning her hips to his so he didn't lose contact, and following her down. He wedged her thighs wide and thrust in, slowly but firmly, her eyes widening with each movement. He buried his hands in her hair, slaking his fantasies, and she clutched his back, loving the feel of his muscles clenching and unclenching with each movement.

* * *

So this was what it felt like to be truly possessed by a man…Gwen wasn't simple, she knew from overhearing conversations between chambermaids that not all men were this considerate, or desirous of her own pleasure before his. She wasn't prepared for the pleasure that mingled with the ache that his invasion caused, as she said goodbye to her innocence and welcomed him into her body with open arms.

He propped himself up on his elbows, his lips gentle and soft against hers, no longer driving, no longer so overtly possessive. He was inside her, he had taken her; possession was rather redundant after that fact.

Gwen felt her heart soar and burst, as she met his eyes and saw the tenderness there. It made her want to cry and laugh, so she did neither, shutting her eyes and leaning up to kiss his neck, holding herself against him tightly.

"Gwen, look at me," he whispered hoarsely, and she was unable to deny him. She looked at him, at his emerald eyes burning above her, and felt her entire body tremble. He shifted his hips, lifted one leg above his hip so he could penetrate deeper, and she gasped in surprise, arching against him as he groaned.

This time, the pain faded and the pleasure began to reign supreme, warm wave lapping at her senses turning to an inferno, much as it had done when he had pleasured her with his mouth, but this time, it was a thousand times more intense. Unable to bear it any longer, Gwen closed her eyes, putting her head to the side, but she blindly sought out one of the hands buried in her hair, holding and squeezing it tightly.

Loki allowed her the contact, a part of him puzzled by the urge he felt, to have her see him, have her look at him as he pleasured her, but it was irresistible. He bent his lips to her neck, lingering over his mark, and she whimpered his name.

The driving burning in his own body was beginning to coalesce, into a wave of pleasure that would overwhelm him. He was determined she would come with him, and he would see it in her eyes as she did.

He pressed a kiss to her lips, the unrelenting pace of his hips, gentle as he had promised but unyielding now she was comfortable, and forced her to face him.

"Gwen," the word was a dark command, the gentle lover gone. "Look. At. Me."

She unwillingly opened her eyes and gasped at the darkness in them, driven by a desperate longing and a need she couldn't fathom. It scared and drew her, so she forced back her fear, and willingly gave him her heart to shatter, as the passion between them exploded, heat and pleasure erupting like molten lava in their blood, Gwen crying out his name, sobbing with fulfilment, as he growled and latched onto the mark on her neck, shuddering with his own completion, as she held him to her by his hair, her body trembling with aftershocks.

As Loki carefully withdrew from her, expending the last of his energy before pulling her to him and holding her tightly, Gwen stared in horror and grief at his dark hair and replete face.

What had she done?

She forced the feeling away, focussing only on the pleasure he had brought her. She refused to consider what had happened, at least in her heart during the past moments, her body thrumming with satiation.

His voice, husky from spent lust, sounding so human, fell into her ears as he nuzzled her neck. "Rest while you may, Gwen. This night is far from over."

Shuddering at the dark promise in his words, Gwen clung to him, one white thigh slung over his hip, cheek nestled against his heart.

Loki held her, brow furrowed as he stared at the opposite wall. He should get up and leave her now, but instead he had promised her more? Intended to stay with her?

What exactly had happened?

* * *

_**A/N:**_ I just wrote 4,000 words of pure smut…_**again**_. Loki, you are a bad influence! And that sauna scene from Henry IV part II might have had a little something to do with it….

Even though I tell myself it's just going to be a smut writing exercise, angst just loves to creep its way in. *shakes head*


	8. Moonlight

Mischief's Lover

Warning: Explicit Content

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

_**Prompt #8 'Moonlight'**_

_223 Cavendish Square, 10__th__ September, 1889_

Gwen stirred, blinking as her eyes opened. Her bedroom was dark, the candles long snuffed out.

The only light in the room was a shaft of moonlight bisecting the bed, and she guessed that was what had woken her. It swept across her body, draped in the sheets from her waist down, the rest…

Covered by pale, hard male.

Memory returned, and if she had been the blushing type, she would have been tomato red. But instead, the images rushing across the surface of her mind just made her breath hitch, as she glanced over her shoulder at the inhuman creature who lay beside her, one arm over her waist.

He looked so…human, lying beside her. His face was smoothed of all cunning or mischief, and it sent a surge of tenderness through Gwen that terrified her.

She couldn't. She mustn't.

Feeling suddenly stifled, Gwen tore her gaze away and did her best to slide away from under his arm without waking him.

It was imperative he did not. If he awoke, then he would fulfil the second half of his promise, and while Gwen desired it with all her rebellious heart, she didn't think her heart was ready for it just yet.

She needed time to readjust, to reorient, and find her calm again after that shattering moment with him, sunk deep in her bed, his body hard inside of hers. Just the memory of it was enough to send her shivering with remembered pleasure.

Her lover stirred but did not wake, as she glanced around for her nightgown. It had disappeared, but Gwen glimpsed her robe lying on the floor, and silently snatched it up, sliding it on. She did not know why, but just as she felt the need to stand apart from her lover, she needed to feel covered.

Her certainties had been stripped from her. As she crossed to the window seat and looked out, opening the curtain a little more so she could look out at the gardens, drowned in sylvan moonlight, she cursed herself inwardly. How could she have been so stupid?

To think she deluded herself into believing she could ignore that, ignore the intimacy, the soul-joining force of it? She was a damned fool.

She could only plead ignorance. All she had known, read or overheard had made the act seem transitory, little more than a sharing of bodies for mutual pleasure, and sometimes not even that. No emotion, no convulsions of the soul.

This could not be the same for all women. She was fairly certain not every woman, or more likely no woman, felt this the first time she shared her body with another.

She shook herself a moment later. Regardless of whatever had occurred, she refused to think of it. She had a life, a comfortable one, and she was needed by her father. He too had a life, and she had no idea that he had felt anything out of the ordinary in their interlude. Whatever she thought, whatever she felt, it meant nothing. It could mean nothing.

* * *

Loki watched her from the bed, disturbed from the warmth of sleep the moment she had left his side. She knelt, body shrouded by her robe, on the window seat, gazing out at the night, her form outlined by the moonlight, silvering her auburn hair.

She was troubled; he could see it in her face, in the reflection of the glass. Reminded of her sadness when he first entered her bedchamber, he felt something inside him sink. She was his lover, his responsibility.

She should be relaxed, sated and eager for more, in his arms, now. Instead she was sad, tense with some inner pain.

Well, they couldn't have that.

With an anticipatory grin, he slipped silently from the bed, until he stood behind her, inhaling the scent of her hair as she started, then tensed even more.

"I know you are troubled, Gwen," he breathed against her neck. "I saw it in your face when I came here. Do not try to lie to me."

Gwen shuddered, closing her eyes. She would never tell him that the causes of her pain were the foolish wishes of her own heart, but he would settle for little else. Telling him of her father's illness would do no harm.

"I worry for my father," she murmured, finally. "His health is failing and there is little I can do to stop it. I suppose that seems trivial to an immortal."

"If something pains you, sweetling, then it is never trivial," he whispered, sliding his arms around her waist, feeling her body relax against him. Gwen sucked in a breath against the sudden pressure in her chest and eyes at his words, so deceptively soft. "What is it exactly that ails him?"

She shrugged. "Old age, I'm afraid," she replied quietly. "I doubt there is anything even one such as you could do."

"Do mine ears deceive me or was that sounding dangerously like respect in your tone?" he asked jokingly. When that did not elicit the response he had hoped, he sobered and gently caressed her waist through the robe. "Unfortunately, not even my power can halt the inevitable."

"I know, and I wouldn't ask it of you," Gwen breathed, as his lips brushed her temple, nudging aside a curl.

"Your thoughts grow dark, Gwen," Loki murmured against her ear. "There is far more pleasure to be experienced tonight rather than wallowing in grief for something that is yet to happen."

Gwen smiled, still a touch sadly, as she felt his lips place a trail of warm kisses down her neck. She tilted it sideways, feeling a pleasant tug of warmth in the pit of her stomach, growing with every press of his mouth. "I do believe you still have a promise to keep, my Prince."

"Yes, I do but patience, my sweetling," he purred in her ear. "That will come soon enough. For now, just enjoy what I can give you, my Gwen, before we move on to darker pleasures."

Gwen shivered when she felt the sash of her robe tighten and then release, as Loki's hands spread over the width of her waist. "Like this?" she hissed, glancing over her shoulder at him, his austere features seemingly set in alabaster where the moonlight hit them, as he pressed himself against her back, through the silk of her robe. The drapes opened fully, and she gasped.

"Fear not, Gwen," he whispered in her ear, dark and as irresistible as sin. "No one will see you, no one will hear you. Just savour the feel of the darkness, of the moonlight on your skin."

Loki's hands swiftly dropped from her waist to her hips, sliding languorously over her hipbones, sweeping aside the silken robe, pulling the back up and over the globes of her bottom, as he gently but firmly coaxed her legs apart.

"Put your arm around my neck," he told her heatedly, as she leaned back and into his embrace. Unease flickered as she contemplated the uncovered window, knowing that anyone in the garden could see them, like this, so utterly compromised and exposed. Not that anyone should be the gardens at this time of night, but she still felt the vulnerability. "Relax, dearest," Loki's voice in her ear, warm breath washing over her neck, as his hands roamed her swiftly heating body. "I would never allow anyone to see you like this, other than myself."

"Glad to hear it," she gasped, as his hand trailed down her abdomen, before curling under and into her. She rocked her hips against the pressure inside, a smile breaking over her lips as she closed her eyes and let herself relax.

Her nails scrapped through the curls at the nape of his neck, as Loki shuddered, relishing every silken slide of his finger into her, adding another as she gasped and whimpered in his arms. Her reticence faded again, and she rocked harder, glorious in her abandon.

He could see her reflection in the panes of glass in front of them. He watched his own fingers slowly disappear and pull out of her with every rock of her hips and movement of his hand. Her hand, the one not clamped onto his neck, had fallen back and now clasped his thigh, flexing over the tense muscle, her nails lightly scratching him.

He was slightly surprised by the abandon in her body, her eyes closed in ecstasy. He rocked his hips into her, need turning his body to steel, as he felt her moist warmth teasingly close. Only a slightly readjustment and he could be inside her.

* * *

Gwen felt him, so close, frustratingly so, as she felt the tension inside her begin to well and overwhelm her. The cushion of the window seat beneath her knees chafed her skin, as she rocked herself against his fingers and his body, hard and hot against her moist folds.

As before, she had almost no power, no control in this position. She couldn't kiss her lover, or touch him beyond the contact he allowed her and her hand on his thigh. The pressure inside her wasn't enough, she needed more. She needed him.

"Loki, please," she gasped. "Enough teasing."

"Yes, my lady!" he growled mockingly, his eyes raking over her moonlight shrouded form possessively. He nudged her legs open further, and took his hands away, trailing them over her abdomen to her hips, leaving a trail of heated wetness behind. Gwen shuddered and pressed back against him.

With a roll of his hips, Loki slid inside of her, holding her firmly by her hips. Aware of the ache she must be experiencing, from their previous activities, he was gentle; rolling shallowly into her, keeping her close so there was only minimal friction. He lowered his hand to the apex of her thighs, carefully tracing and caressing until she was panting wildly in his embrace.

Gwen quickly worked out how to rise and fall with his rhythm, her body tight around his, deep inside. Her hand rose from his thigh to clasp his hand on her stomach, holding tightly as his hand shifted and shifted beneath her palm.

The mark on her neck began to burn, as the pressure inside her built and built, fed by the body thrusting steadily into hers, the hand gently teasing her wet folds and the other slowly rising, beneath her own, to splay over the mound of her breast. She was overwhelmed, completely immersed in the sensations, blind to the way she looked in her reflection, in the panes of the window.

Loki was not, as he kept his eyes open, fixed on her body writhing and undulating in his arms, so very his and unaware of it. The rhythm of his hips began to falter, as his own body begged for release, wound tighter than a bowstring, teased by the very rhythm he had created for them.

Her moans grew louder and hoarser, and he buried his own face against her neck, stifling his groans, the roll of his hips and the caress of his fingers becoming harder, harsher, seeking the end, no longer so concerned with abrading her sensitive, still untried flesh, and she begged him for it. He held her to him, in a punishing hold, so she couldn't move, and was prisoner to his will as he thrust deeply into her. She cried out as his fingers glided over her wet centre one last time, and he felt her climax deep within, washing over him in waves, coaxing his own release until he too cried out, blindly finding her mouth and drowning his final cry in her mouth.

* * *

They panted, their breath syncopated, as they clung to each other, their bodies aching sensitive as he gently slid from her, and she felt herself slump back, truly exhausted. He had tried her enough tonight.

Feeling tenderness well, he cradled her in his arms, returning her to the bed and making sure she was well-covered as she shifted restlessly in exhausted stupor, and stepped back. The moonlight covered her form, and he watched her intently for a few moments, until with a flick of his hand, the drapes closed once more and the room plunged into darkness.

He dressed by magic, and then approached the bed, leaning over his lover. He could smell himself on her, and it pleased. She would not forget this night, and soon he would return.

With a smile, he turned away. Oh yes, he would return very soon indeed…

* * *

_To be continued…_


End file.
